May 2011

The Fetal Position

by Lori Dwyer on May 30, 2011 · 2 comments

Assume the fetal position.

We are safe here, for now. We feel safe.

My house is warm and small and neat and comfortable. My washing dries in the wind and sun. Potted colour blooms in my garden.

Cakes cook. I sleep, deeply, and my dreams are harmless. I have support, enough (it’s never enough…), just enough to get by.

And I am scared. And that’s OK.

Because I’ve run, and I’ve run, for months now. I’ve been so strong and brave. Now the bits are in place enough, just enough, for me to assume the fetal position.

My soul is so exhausted. It just needs to rest for a while, now we’re safe.

So things are terrifying. Taking my children to swimming lessons, new people, a new place? It makes me sick to my stomach with terror. Visiting the post office is an exercise in self esteem, in being strong,in keeping a stiff upper lip, when their is a three year old throwing one of his irrepressible tantrums.

The thought of making friends down here, of making small talk… it’s simply too frightening to comprehend.

I hate it. I miss the Lori that was so social. But I just cannot form connections, form friendships and play social niceties with people right now.

It’s just too damn difficult.

And I don’t think it matters. I’m doing any damage. If this is how I need to heal.. then, I guess, so be it.

Ugh…. Blogger is playing up. Comments not working. No fun at all. Sorry about that, jellybeans, it should be back to normal soon.

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I Don’t Want To Die, But…

by Lori Dwyer on May 29, 2011 · 2 comments

Some days there just doesn’t seem much point to this.

The future looks very bleak. There’s not much to look forward to.

And I’m just so exhausted. And sad. And awfully sick of thinking.

Honestly, it would be such a pleasure to just… sleep.

It’s not I want to die. I don’t, particularly.

But living isn’t much right now, either.

The only thing that keeps me here, are my children. And not because I enjoy their company so very much- although i do, but every time I look at them, it reminds me of what I’ve lost- but simply because it would be so unfair. So chronically, unbelievably unfair on them.

They never asked for this, any more than I did. And I won’t burden them with more than they already have.

And,if I’m honest- and I am, here, always- I’ve considered taking them with me. So I could go, I could die, and not have to worry about what would happen to them…

We could all be a family again.

But such gorgeous little people, who enjoy their days so much.. how could I deny the world the chance to have them in it?

That would be unfair, a travesty to society. Because they are brilliant people, and will do amazing things.

So.. I discount trees and walls when driving, ignore them rather then turning the wheel toward to them. I walk straight past coils of sinister orange nylon rope at the hardware store, without stroking them longingly. Without even looking back.

I don’t want to die.

I just want to be with Tony again.

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by Lori Dwyer on May 27, 2011 · 26 comments

Hey my TonyHead,

Everyone else seemed to be such a tiny part of our lives, hey? We were so cellular. Our little purple complex, and everything was beautiful.

I remember everything. You know that, right? Even the things I thought I’d forgotten… I remember them now.

The very first time I realised, like a light bulb clicking on, that you were flirting with me. And you telling me, in perfect detail twelve months later, what I was wearing that day and how gorgeous and sweet and innocent you thought I was.

I remember sitting in a park in Glebe on our first date.

I remember the first huge argument we had, over some chick you knew, and how we managed to spend five hours apart before I was back, crawling into your bed, saying I was sorry, and you ruffled my hair and called me a boofhead.

I remember your voice shaking, and you got down on one day and asked me “Will you do the honour of becoming my wife… one day, eventually?” on the packed dirt floor of the old elephant enclosure at the zoo.

Because, you told me in your wedding speech, elephants are lucky.

You were so proud of that speech- and so you should have been, I was proud of you. I’ve never been so proud in my whole life as what I was that night, on the dance floor, arms wrapped around you, you whispering to me how perfect this was, how this was the best party you’d ever been to.

I remember you squeezing my hands, rubbing my hair, bringing me ice when I was in labour. Joking with me that I had eaten all the ice, and me crying, because didn’t you understand that was a tragedy??

I remember, we got pissed that last Christmas night. I’m so glad we did. In all the time we were together, I only saw you drunk a handful of times. And it seems like something a husband and wife should do together, get shitfaced.

You told me you loved me ten times a day. I loved that so much about you- that we told each other, and our kids, how much we loved them, all the time.

I miss you, you know that? the shock wears off… and the ache for you, it gets worse.

You told me, so may times, that no matter happened in our lives, we would always be best mates. We knew each other’s souls, inside out.

I miss you. I’d give anything, just for one more second… I’d give the rest of my life, for one more night with you.

That’s the hardest part about all this. All I want is you, and you.. you’re dead.

It’s just so hard, not to want to die too.

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