Monthly Archives: May 2016
Random notes from the Man – RRSAHM
Random notes from the Man
Heya,
This is a wall post the Man left on FaceBook for me a few days ago. Copied and pasted, verbatim. I just had to share.
“hello sexy Lori head , just wanting to let you know , i found out that you lie to me every day .. but its ok , i still love you , the lie is …. when you tell me i am sexy , i did believe you , but i took a look in the mirror and discovered that my face looks like a smacked back side ..lol but i do love you and i unde…rstand why you are always so nice too me .. but atleast we breed well .. and make spunky bubs .. if you want you can keep lying … anyway hun , i am bored at work .. and have plenty of time too ramble on with TIHS .. but wont bore you with my head .. as i feel for you having to look at such a sexy head like mine , xoxoxoxoxo love you xoxoxoxoxo P.S. Shake the baby if it works hun , i wont tell anyone that you do it ..lol”
He is a strange one, my Man. Lucky for him I love him just the way he is.
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10 Things I Hate About You – RRSAHM
10 Things I Hate About You
I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call. But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.
Despite loving him so much, some nights– like last night– I hate my husband.
I hate him for leaving me like this, leaving me to deal with this. Leaving me alone and cold and with two children to raise all by myself.
I hate him for leaving the way he did. I hate him for making it so violent, so traumatic, so fucking ugly. I hate him for leaving me with that picture in my mind.
I hate him for leaving me unable to be loved, to be held tight, by anyone else. I hate that the stigma follows me around, stains me with its oily blackness, wipes off onto everything I touch, everyone who comes near me.
I hate that its left me so broken, so traumatized, that I don’t even know when my reactions are ‘normal’ and when they’re not. I don’t remember what it was like to be a normal person.
I hate it, that every time I reach for happiness, something from the past seems to pull me away from it, claw at my clothes, wrap its cold bony fingers around my escape route.
I hate that no matter how much I try and break free, this follows me around, everywhere, a shadow of what life could have been, a stench that won’t let me go.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. And I hate that I love him so much, I love him like fire… and that means this still burns, and badly. Because if I really did hate him, it wouldn’t hurt at all.
Leave a Comment
{ 31 comments… read them below or add one }
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May 7, 2013 at 1:20 pm -
Oh God, I get this, after 23 years I still get this. My husband didn’t commit suicide, well not really unless you count a blood alcohol reading of 186 and then getting on his motor bike and crashing and killing himself while I was at home with five kids, two of them babies. I get the anger, frustration, loneliness, despair and pain of telling your children that their father was not coming home. Even after therapy I still have a hole inside that won’t heal, so I continue on with life and pretend. Love your honesty and the raw emotion you put out there, something I can’t do, my generation was programed to get on with it.
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May 8, 2013 at 12:17 pm -
Thanks so much Wendy. Welcome to RRSAHM xxxxxxx
Lori Dwyer recently posted…Countdown To Borneo: 13 Days
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May 11, 2012 at 9:43 am -
Aww crap, you made me cry, AGAIN.
- April 30, 2012 at 9:44 am
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Is it wrong of me to say that I love this post? I love that you can articulate both feelings. I love that you can own them both, simultaneously. You love him, of course. But for now you have every reason to be angry with him, to want to kick his ass for doing this, and then hold on to him forever.
But I can only imagine the conflict and the whiplash you must feel at times.
Thinking of you Lori. xxxx
- April 28, 2012 at 8:52 pm
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I wish I could bring you a casserole, chocolate and a hug xx
- April 28, 2012 at 2:18 pm
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Hon – I felt the same this morning … but for me it's the hating of this life transferred onto my husband…. and Greg's death was completely out of his control so I have no right to hate him, even though I love him so very much, but I hate that he left and I have to stay. I swear at him for getting the easy side of "til death do us part" while I have to live through this half-life. XXXX
- April 28, 2012 at 11:36 am
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Beautiful Lori. Thinking of you xx
- April 28, 2012 at 12:11 am
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*HUGS*
- April 27, 2012 at 10:42 pm
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♥
- April 27, 2012 at 9:16 pm
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Just wanted to send hugs xxx
- April 27, 2012 at 8:45 pm
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Impossible to imagine. Sending love. xx
- April 27, 2012 at 8:45 pm
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Impossible to imagine. Sending love. xx
- April 27, 2012 at 8:41 pm
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Hugs Lori. I cannot fathom what this is like for you. xx
- April 27, 2012 at 8:36 pm
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Oh god. This is SUCH a great post, Lori. That seems weird to say… but I truly mean it. This is a special, spectacular one. There's fire and passion in this one, there's fight. Keep working through it, you good thing xxx
- April 27, 2012 at 8:22 pm
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Keeping you in my thoughts today. There's nothing else I feel I can say. Lots of love to you today.
- April 27, 2012 at 6:06 pm
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I hate that you have to feel this way Lori, it is just not fair. You have every right though to feel each of these emotions xx
- April 27, 2012 at 6:05 pm
- April 27, 2012 at 5:46 pm
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One of the many, wishing I could just hold you.
((((((((((((HUGS)))))))))))) - April 27, 2012 at 1:40 pm
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No words, only love. xo
- April 27, 2012 at 1:27 pm
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xxx
- April 27, 2012 at 1:17 pm
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I am thinking of you. Hugs x
- April 27, 2012 at 1:02 pm
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xx
- April 27, 2012 at 12:24 pm
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That is one of my fave poems of all time. <3
- April 27, 2012 at 11:31 am
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xoxoxoxo
- April 27, 2012 at 11:16 am
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{HUGS} xxx
We all are hear for you Lori - April 27, 2012 at 10:46 am
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Hate & Love…the 2 most powerful emotions in the world, I reckon!
Massive hugs to you Lori. I know right now a virtual hug from a stranger will not help in anyway…but it's what I can give you right now & let you know that you're amazing and strong and beautiful.
x - April 27, 2012 at 10:26 am
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I am thinking of you- I usually just read, but wanted to tell you that I am thinking about you. I am a big believer in the balance- with great love, there is also feelings like yours. . .it is not wrong, in my opinion, to feel this way, it is just how it is with us humans. . .
Michele
- April 27, 2012 at 9:32 am
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Its good to unleash Lori.We are all here for you and we understand your need to get it out.
Big warm hugs sweetheart xxx - April 27, 2012 at 7:28 pm
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Yea, and it's not bloody fair!! Even now, after 27 years, I still hate that I can't stop loving him. That even though he promised to never, ever let me go, he let go! But it no longer hurts, now I'm just so glad he was in my life to help make me who I am.
Big hugs for you all - April 27, 2012 at 9:21 am
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Hugs.
It's good to love. It means you are human. And love hurts. Wasn't that in a def leopard song?
Xxx rah rah in melbs - April 27, 2012 at 8:43 am
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xxx
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
A Reason. – RRSAHM
A Reason.
I’ve always believed everything happens for a reason.
It’s difficult, to believe that, when something like this happens. It’s not so much difficult to keep believing it- although that’s hard enough as it is- it’s difficult to have believed it in the first place.
It’s feels cruel. It feels like I’ve been naive, ignorant. That the world is a much harsher, colder, far lonelier place than I had imagined.
How can I believe things happen for a reason, when such a brilliant person is gone from the world? What reason can there be for that? That two children have lost their father, the light of their tiny lives? How could there be a reason for that, what could possibly make that fair?
Nothing. Nothing at all. There is nothing that can come out of this, nothing that eventuate from this, that is worth my heart breaking like this. That is worth the kind of confusing, earthquaking pain and disruption my son is feeling right.
Nothing, that could be worth the world losing Tony.
There can never be a reason for this.
And yet… didn’t we know something was coming? I knew it, I could feel it in the air for weeks before this happened. Tony knew, that something bad was coming. My mother rang me that very morning, the morning this happened, to warn me that something was happening, something was going to happen.
A palpable tension in the air. Like the feeling of electricity bristling through oxygen before a thunderstorm.
My friend, Emma. She and I were the closest of friends in high school, and we became very, very close again in the weeks before this happened. And she kept saying to me….
“The moons are aligning… can you feel it?”
And dammit, I could.
(And does it feel like it’s not over yet, like it’s still going, as if this cycle is not yet finished? As if there is more to come…? Yes…. I think it does.)
So what it any surprise, really, that Emma’s father was a nurse in the ICU, while Tony was a patient? Or that Emma’s first kiss, back in primary school, turned out to be with my neighbour? The same one that cut Tony down and resuscitated him?
The same neighbour who shouldn’t have even been home that day, at that time. None of my neighbours should have been. The lovely woman who took myself and my children into her backyard, and sheltered us with lemonade and chatter about the Wiggles, she has worked the same shift for years. The day this happened was the first time, ever, that she has accidentally swiped off, and come home, an hour early.
And the ring, in the toaster….. a ring I bought Tony for his birthday, a year ago, that he lost after just three months of wearing. And never told me that he lost it, but confessed all to my brother. And my brother was right there, in the my kitchen, just after Tony died, when that ring fell out of the bottom of our toaster. The same toaster I had used every day- and cleaned at least sporadically- for nine months, without ever noticing a ring in there… how does a ring get in a toaster? I’m guessing it fell there, from the top of the microwave.
But how it stayed there undiscovered for so long is anyone’s guess.
There’s more, there’s always more, when I try and fold my head over the concept of there being some kind of higher purpose for this…. I worked in a hospital for years. Maybe so the tubes, the beeps, the smell,… it didn’t daunt me, when I needed every ounce of my sanity. I worked as a clown for years. Maybe that gave the strength to Pretend, to keep Pretending, that everything was just fine for my babies. I’m still Pretending now.
And then there’s the social work, the years of studying mental health. Having had so much experience with it myself… I’ve had people suggest maybe that’s why I was able to forgive him, understand it, etcetera… but that feels cruel too.
Surely, if my understanding of mental health was worth anything here, it would have been to save him, not just to be able to forgive him. He supported me, through my own near-psychosis, was there every step of the way…
Why couldn’t I do that for him?
I tried, I tell myself that, I tried.
But maybe not hard enough. Maybe it was the fact that he knew I struggled with anxiety in the first place, that made it more difficult for him to talk.
A reason for everything.
They don’t always have to be good ones.
***
I’m officially running away from the world for a week in four hours… I may blog, I may not. But I will certainly be back.
Leave a Comment
{ 47 comments… read them below or add one }
- March 4, 2011 at 11:03 pm
- March 4, 2011 at 3:42 pm
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Maybe him killing himself wasn't whats meant to be, bad things can happen for no reason. but all the things that made it easier for you to handle it, those things you listed, those happened for a reason, those were some fate/god makings, to help you deal with something so horrible.
go and be for a while, figure out whats gonna be for now on. just be. just feel. and hopefully this will get easier.
love, livia
- March 4, 2011 at 2:21 pm
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Just found out via Twitter about your story and am catching up… I'm so, so, sorry, Lori. A lot of people are thinking of you and your children, I hope that thought helps a little bit. There isn't much else I can do to comfort you, wish I could… It's just not fair.
Hugs,
Dagmar
Dagmar's momsense - March 3, 2011 at 5:37 pm
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I don't believe that. I don't believe that everything happens for a reason. A lot of shit just happens because it happens. I'm glad you're getting away for a bit, Lori. Be kind to yourself. x
- March 3, 2011 at 1:23 pm
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Hugs from Cali
- March 3, 2011 at 8:13 am
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I hope you find some peace during your time away from the world. Take care of you. xoxo
- March 3, 2011 at 7:12 am
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Another post that just gives me goosebumps Lori… I think the world is a very fluid place and there are powers at play we can never control.
All I can think of is the blog you posted not long before this tragedy that said "There must be a purpose for suffering. For no other reason that I cannot stand it, if there were not" Now I know hindsight is a brilliant thing, but perhaps you were meant to type these words just before your world fell apart, in order to know you can dig deep to that place of comfort and strength.
And I pray you keep pouring your words out into posts as we all need to live and learn through you – you have a best seller within and we'd all back you on that front!
Much love to you x
- March 2, 2011 at 11:19 pm
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I'm a big believer in that everything happens for a reason too, hon. Good, bad & ugly.
Enjoy your trip to my hometown. Enjoy the sunsets. They are awesome. As are you. xxx
- March 2, 2011 at 8:45 pm
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It seems there's a bigger destiny for you to fulfill.
Enjoy your time away, get lots of sleep, as little stress as possible. - March 2, 2011 at 8:04 pm
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I hope your time away helps, I hope you'll be able to not think just for a while. To just be. Take care of yourself.
- March 2, 2011 at 7:12 pm
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You've given me goosebumps Lori. I would like to think things happen for a reason. But to be honest, when bad shit goes down (like your Tony, or say my Grandfathers cancer) I find it very hard to find any good/lifes lessons or something.
Best wishes Lori, just keep going
- March 2, 2011 at 5:38 pm
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I don't believe everything happens for a reason. Maybe I've seen too much or maybe I'm just jaded. I believe that it's our humanity that makes us need to make sense out of the heavy, hard stuff otherwise it's just too much to bear. We can either go down with the weight of it or we can FIND something good out of it.
I'm not meaning to compare situations, this is how I feel since Erin was born. The reason I sit and listen to other mum's heartbreaking stories is because, if I can give them comfort in some small way what they're going through then it means all the pain I felt and EVERYTHING Erin went through wasn't for nothing. It's made me a better person. That's how I make the worst thing that's ever happened to me into something good. It doesn't make that experience any better though.
Lots of love Lori.
- March 2, 2011 at 4:28 pm
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I don't believe everything happens for a reason. Sometimes things are just shitty. But I think my opinion is in the minority.
Best wishes to you. Hope "away" is good.
- March 2, 2011 at 2:47 pm
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This is beautiful. You are beautiful.
The world is such an intricate tapestry… And sometimes, sometimes, if we're looking very closely, we can see the delicate threads connecting us to one another.
I hope your break is restful and restorative. I, for one, will be here to read when you get back.
- March 2, 2011 at 11:08 am
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I have to say Lori, I dont know you from a bar of soap but I think about you all the time, you are always on my mind, I pray for you and your children everyday. My heart bleeds for the pain you went through and still continue going through.
I do believe things happen for a reason. There is nothing you could have done to stop this from happening. Maybe, just maybe this happened so you could help others, prevent the same happening to other men or to help other women who have been through horrific things like you.
Right now you have to live 1 minute at a time but I'm sure there is a HUGE future waiting for you.
Louise - March 2, 2011 at 11:07 am
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I will never know the truth depth or extent of interconnection between people, places, events. I look at my GOFA's life and I am convinced that for him at least, nothing, absolutely nothing, is coincidence. It's not all sweet serendipity and it's not simply coincidence; there is simply too much for that. But I am not sure I'll ever understand the 'reasons' for some things … even the reason for me in his life. Safe travels, peaceful dreams on your journey.
- March 2, 2011 at 10:32 am
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Sometimes running is exactly what's needed for your soul. xx
- March 2, 2011 at 3:33 pm
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I think we need reasons for things happening, to give ourselves a little comfort. After my son died, I wanted desperately to know that there was some good reason for it, that he didn't live and die for nothing.
I look at the way Tony died, and there doesn't seem to be much reason in it.
I used to believe that everyone lived the exact length of time they were pre-destined for, but after Tonys' death, I don't know what to think anymore. How could that possibly have been 'meant to be'?I DO, however, believe, with all my heart, that you were sent help, in the Before, and on that day. Why that help didn't mean the rope snapped immediately, or Tony realised what he was doing in time, or a thousand other things — well, I just don't know.
I really hope your break gives you some of the peace you need right now.
- March 2, 2011 at 4:17 am
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I used to think there was a reason for everything. I'm not sure I do anymore, but I've seen all sorts of ways that things that happened were useful in preparing me for things to come, sometimes aweful things. Maybe not as aweful as what you're experiencing, but aweful in different ways, like the miscarriage I'm going through now. It doesn't compare to losing a husband, and I don't see any reason for it. I don't know if there is a reason for it. I'm sure there's a reason for some things though, even aweful things, and I usually don't understand the reason at the time. I'm comming to accept that I'll never understand the reasons for some things, and others I may only understand years down the road when I run into something else or someone else that is better for the experience. And if I never know the reason, or if there isn't a reason, I'm learning to see that as ok. I don't have to understand everything.
Praying for you and wishing you healing in your own time.
- March 2, 2011 at 3:30 am
- March 2, 2011 at 12:39 am
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I think sometimes the bigger picture type reasons don't show themselves until much later, like when we're not looking for the reason anymore. At least, that's how it seems to work with me. I hope you have a great trip
- March 1, 2011 at 7:16 pm
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Its chaos theory at work.
Godspeed in your travels away from the world. You deserve the break.
- March 1, 2011 at 6:00 pm
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May your trip give you some peace.
- March 1, 2011 at 5:54 pm
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….have a good run-away. make sure you get plenty of fresh air. being outside is good for the soul! hug. x
- March 1, 2011 at 5:14 pm
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If you find a reason for the insanity of early widowhood, please tell me…..
- March 1, 2011 at 4:12 pm
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What you're saying reminds me of the movie set in India (I think) where this guy wins a game show by answering all of the questions correctly and the questions were so far out that the game show producers thought he had cheated because he couldn't possibly have answered them all right.
But it turned out that odd little circumstances happened to him in his life and each thing taught him something and each of those somethings was an answer to the game show questions.
Sorry, I can't remember the name of the movie, but it was very good.
I don't think everything happens for a reason, because there can be no good reason for what happened to Tony and to your family. But I think maybe once things set in motion and it was clear the inevitible was about to happen, maybe God, or the universe, or what higher power you believe in, moved those around you to be there to help you when you needed it.
I hope your week away is soothing, I hope it helps you and you find some peace.
Love to you. - March 1, 2011 at 1:37 pm
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Ah Lori… as ever the truth in your words cuts like a knife. Right now there are many people in the world wondering if terrible things happen for a reason. Believing the world to be a much crueller, harsher, lonelier place than they ever imagined. And sadly I think the world can be cruel, and uncaring, and violent. And as far as its reasons, I wonder if we will ever know.
It does seem so strange, for the stars to align themselves this way, for constellations to form around this tragic event, tides and forces so strong that you could feel them even before you could have any idea what they were circling around. For your beautiful neighbours to miraculously be home, so you weren’t left alone, screaming in terror, with no one to help you. For you to know what to expect within an ICU, for you to be an expert at painting a happy face over a mask of tragedy. Maybe the reason for these events was simply so that the demon which took Tony from you and your children would not take you as well.
I am not sure that everything does happen for a reason. Maybe life has its own reasons and we don’t always get to know what they are. And maybe life can be cruel, and violent, and senseless and unreasonable, and we have to pick ourselves up and try to cobble together our own reasons from the broken pieces. It is the work of a lifetime, not something that happens overnight. Sometimes, with something like this, I think the only reasons will be the ones you make or find yourself. That will take years, decades. Maybe one day when you’re sitting on the porch, sipping a gin and tonic, and watching the grandchildren playing in the garden, maybe then you will have some reasons, or maybe just an awareness of what happened as a result of this earthquake in your life.
Enjoy your adventure lovely girl, fly safe. And while you’re up there, look down on the clouds, and savour that sensation of being above the earth, neither here nor there, able to see from one horizon to the other.
Love always xoxoxo - March 1, 2011 at 11:18 am
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Thinking of you – hope your time away give you space to breathe
- March 1, 2011 at 11:15 am
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Love this. I agree that there must always be a reason – or a lesson – even if it isn't a good one. Not a silver lining (not a chance), but a connection, a link, from one thing to another. And I love when that special freaky stuff happens. Those little coincidences that can't possibly just be coincidences.
I recently read your December post on religion/beliefs. Loved it. I hope you can still find some of the sentiments you posted then, Before.
Sending love and strength, and wishing you a lovely trip,
Marianna - March 1, 2011 at 10:55 am
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Oh the little things how they scare me. And always in hidsight you notice things lining up and weird coincidences and it's just FREAKY. But i hope they bring you some comfort, some support.
<3 - March 1, 2011 at 10:00 am
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Having lived through years' worth of loss of life now, I can very deeply identify with what you're saying here. I felt a fool, as if the very universe I'd trusted in to "have a damn good reason" all the time had laughed in my foolish face and made a complete dick of me. Using my almost-coulda-been children (and my very special girl) to do it. I didn't think it could get any more cruel. And I definitely didn't want to say "there was a reason" when it felt like, this time, there was absolutely no way there could be ANY reason for this much trauma.
But…… (and you surely had to know there was a 'but', if you know me even a little bit!)….. perhaps as things clear a little for you, and you get through all these things you are so masterfully stepping through and sorting out and voicing (SO good) right now, you will see what an incredible gift and ability has been placed in your hands. I KNOW it is bitterly cold comfort right now. And it might take a few years, even, for acceptance or the *thing* you have been bestowed with to be fully realised. But it's there. And so is your choice along the way of how much or little you are going to allow yourself to cope with at any given point.
I am in awe of your task. And of you, Lori. I hope your time away is everything nurturing and filling-up that it can be for you. xxxx
- March 1, 2011 at 8:12 am
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Thinking of you
- March 1, 2011 at 8:12 am
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I remember feeling the same way when I had my miscarriages. I still cannot come up with a "reason" why my children died, though I tried and tried. I remember feeling the same loss of innocence – like the world suddenly seemed cold and scary instead of understandable and safe. I hope you find some understanding that helps you make sense of this as you move forward.
Have a good trip away. - March 1, 2011 at 7:47 am
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I'm not sure that everything happens for a reason but, if it does, those reasons may not be clear for years after the event. Maybe, down the track, you get to choose your own reason…find your own lesson in it, if there is one.
I cant tell you what it is, or even if its a good one… i can just tell you just keep pushing on, and you might find it in the end… - March 1, 2011 at 7:42 am
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I hope the time away is good for you, good for your mind and you can come back stronger.
- March 1, 2011 at 7:08 am
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Escape. Somewhere else, where it may be easier to breath for a little while. xx
- March 1, 2011 at 5:33 am
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I keep doing the same thing–trying to find a bit of reason or interpret a bit of warning as to why my sister died in a car accident three weeks ago. I can't find a reason, don't think I ever will. But I do seem to find ways that she was preparing us for her being gone. I'm not sure if that makes it better or more horrifying. I've been reading your blog for a while now but have never commented. At first, I couldn't understand how you're surviving through the grief, but then, when Alex died I kept reading as a lifeline for me–what happens next? Does this get better?
You and your two beautiful children are in my thoughts and prayers.
- March 1, 2011 at 4:37 am
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I think a lot of us are "tuned in" to that kind of intuition… Unless we have a premonition, or a vision, how on earth do we know what is coming in order to prevent it from happening? And, do we even pay attention to those visions, brushing them off as we (or perhaps I) tend to do?!
Maybe they're written in stone, immutable and we cannot prevent them from taking place no matter what.
Wherever it is you're off to, may you find some peace and healing. xx
- March 1, 2011 at 4:04 am
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*HUGS* Thinking of you.
- March 1, 2011 at 3:56 am
- March 1, 2011 at 3:51 am
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I hope your trip brings you some relief. Still thinking of you every day.
- March 1, 2011 at 3:36 am
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It's funny, I've been thinking about why things happen and how they always have a reason and considering your… um… situation. I think when you look at it as only being one life, this one and we're done, it's impossible to explain. But if you consider reincarnation, past lives and that they all work together, it becomes easier to explain. Not easier to deal with, just to explain.
Have a rejuvenating time away. I hope you can regain your center and find little bits of happiness while you're gone.
- March 1, 2011 at 3:19 am
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Here's to your time away being exactly what you need right now. much love.
- March 1, 2011 at 2:43 am
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There was no way you could guess exactly what was to come. go do what you need to do
- March 1, 2011 at 2:21 am
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I believe the world holds those coincidences, those little transmissions of human connection — and that there's some rhythm to it.
You're a brilliant writer Lori. That's a true gift — not everyone can communicate as you can — what you've shared here — it resonates.
I hope your time away offers some respite, if only for a few moments.
Love,
Pam - March 1, 2011 at 8:08 am
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May you see things while you are away that soothe you ,if only for a short time.
Although for a long time would be better.
- March 1, 2011 at 6:39 am
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I am so glad you're escaping for awhile. I truly hope you find some moments of peace while you are away!
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Jeans and Stuff.
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Change The Rules, Change The Game… – RRSAHM
Change The Rules, Change The Game…
“I do not regret the things I’ve done, but those I did not do.”
Said by… lots of people. But we’ll go with Rory Cochrane, a la Empire Records.
After officially having short hair for about two months now– enough time to be comfortable with it, enough space for it to settle in. I know vaguely how to style it, and, on the days it refuses to cooperate with that style, I know to just wrap a headscarf of some description around it and get on with things. Not that it takes a lot of style time– the very best thing about hair this length is the wash’n’go quality of it, how simple and light and easy it is, the fact that I haven’t even plugged my hair straightener into the wall for a couple of months now.
But (and I know how much this is going to disappoint a lot of you) I just… don’t…. love it. It’s OK. It’s not great. Some days I kind of dig it… but I don’t think I’ve ever actually sat back and gone “I am so glad I cut my hair!”
In fact… I can’t wait for it to grow back. I’m looking forward to a messy bun with wispy bits at the side, to hair soft as corn silk brushing my shoulders, to hiding my eyes behind a wall of it to flirt with.
It’s taking it’s precious time about it. Despite growing quicker than it would when it was longer, it’s still most definitely short.
I’m not sure what it is… I think it comes back to that loss of femininity, especially when I have no one but myself to make me feel pretty. I know how terribly unfashionable it is to admit this… but I still want to be the princess. And the princess still has hair all the way to the bottom of the tower.
But, within all that, while I’m not particularly fond of my hair short and I am anxious to have some length in it again– even a pretty bob that sits just at my ears would be lovely– I don’t regret the decision to chop it off.
Can you be not entirely happy with a decision you’ve made and still not regret doing it? I guess so. It was unpleasant. But it felt then, and still feels now, like it was necessary. A ritualistic shedding of the skin. A decision to revoke my own appeal to the opposite sex until I was a bit more whole, a bit more earthed, a bit more sure of who I am now…
Of course it didn’t work that way– does things ever work the way we planned, the way we intend them to? But it was the beginning, the catalyst for some bigger kind of change.
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| When in doubt, wrap fabric over head. |
There’s a feeling that you get at certain points in your life… the inert sense that things are changing, that the general atmosphere of your life is shifting, that some kind of phrase is closing in the cosmos and it will twist the circumstances of your day to day existence just slightly, so they seem the same as before but are so very different.
I know it well, and I remember it occurring at infrequent intervals in the Before; and it being exciting, exhilarating and somewhat uncomfortable.
I feel, right now, the last twelve months, since the first and worst of the shock wore off; as if I’m constantly in shift. It’s not exciting anymore, or exhilarating… it’s just uncomfortable and exhausting and it gives me motion sickness.
I’m not sure if it’s ready to settle yet… but I’m changing again, metamorphosing the way I view the world. Maybe those lenses have been changed again.
It begun with the hair. Change the rules, change the game. (I am totally, unashamedly ripping that off David Lee)
Change the rules. Change the game. Cut your hair… start again.
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{ 11 comments… read them below or add one }
- May 13, 2012 at 6:44 am
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I love the short hair. But I think it's perfectly acceptable for you to miss swishing your hair around.
- May 11, 2012 at 9:23 am
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I know exactly what you mean! Over the years I've cut my hair short several times when I've felt a big change for the better coming. It's cathartic. Sort of like a visible way of telling the world you're starting anew
- May 10, 2012 at 6:21 pm
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I totally get this. I could never cut my hair short. it's just part of my identity – my "me".
Here's to good change and necessary change and all the electric excitement it brings.also. feel like I haven't seen you in AGES.
must see you soon. I must. - May 10, 2012 at 5:23 pm
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A word comes to mind: "Shape-shifting"
- May 10, 2012 at 11:48 pm
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I get it. I've cut my hair short several times over the years. There's something bold and confident about a short cut, nothing to hide behind. But, then I go and grow it out again. I think it looks super cute, but I'm sure longer will look great too
- May 10, 2012 at 1:03 pm
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My hair is just getting to the short bob stage, after having it short for about a year. I do think that changing hairstyles can be a reflection of inner change and growth.
- May 10, 2012 at 10:15 am
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Shit. Don't worry about disappointing us; it's your hair!! I (as a supporter of the soon-to-be-not-as-short-short 'do) am just glad *you're* glad you tried it. Because that kind of change can be, as you said, freeing. Besides. Think of all the cute barrettes and hair clips you'll get use while it's growing out.
- May 10, 2012 at 9:58 am
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… I just loved my comment so much I tweeted it. I don't have daughters. If i did, I'm pretty sure all the "princess play" would annoy the hell out of me.
I like your hair pixie and I like it long. You're a beauty both ways XXX
- May 10, 2012 at 9:54 am
- May 10, 2012 at 9:10 am
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You look beautiful, short or long! Those cheekbones
- May 10, 2012 at 8:46 am
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I Like this … a lot. I totally get it too. xx
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Flowers Make Me Happy – RRSAHM
Flowers Make Me Happy
Good morning,
I love flowers, have I mentioned this before? There is something about a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen table that makes the house feel clean and tidy. Even when it’s not. And, most days, ya know, it’s… erm.. not. So we need all the help we can get.
The universe seems to know this about me, I think. Hence forth, it likes to send me flowers in times of desperate need. When I just can’t be arsed doing the housework.
Check out the massive spread I got when the Bump was born. They made my house look clean and tidy for weeks.
Flowers are muchly a luxury item here. The Man is not a flowers-for-no-reason-type of husband. Probably my own fault. Way back when, in the BC (Before Children), I did receive one or two totally random bunches of flowers. The first words out of my mouth were “What have you done wrong?!”. So, no more flowers. A fair call, really.
For a while now, I’ve been meaning to take a cue from Lucy and buy myself a bunch of flowers. For no reason other than I want them, and they will look pretty on my kitchen table. And, of course, they make the whole house look cleaner. It’s just that every time I go to buy them, I find myself wondering if I can really justify $15 for flowers that will only last a coupla days at the most…?
Well, the universe took care of that too.
Early last week, when I was in the thick of my *ahem* personal problems, I happened to be standing in the ten items-or-less lane at Woolies. One of the obligatory Woolies produce section guys, young and skinny and wearing a green apron longer than I am tall, walked up with two bunches of white roses. And with a goofy smile, thrust one bunch at me, and one at the woman in the line behind me.
“All yours, they’re a freebie. Probably won’t last long. Past dates, so we can’t sell ‘em”.
Aww, bless his stinky adolescent cotton socks. Aren’t they just gorgeous….?
As promised, they did not last long. Only a few days. Didn’t matter. Every time I saw them, I smiled. And they made the house look lovely. And the best thing about them? Why, they were flowers for no reason at all. Flowers without an agenda. Flowers just for the sake of, well, flowers.
And that’s what’s making me iHappy this week. Lord knows, I needed it. Click on over to MummyTime, break out your iPhone or, in my case, some other form of way less cool technology, and get your Happy’s on with Brenda
*iPhone desired but not essential
Leave a Comment
{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
- August 18, 2010 at 9:01 pm
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Freebie flowers! We're a sans-flowers household unless I buy them, too. Hub used to buy huge bouquets for our anniversary until I told him with two kids, we've now got more important things to spend the money on.
Selfless, silly me..
- August 17, 2010 at 8:22 pm
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What a lovely thing to have happen! At the Coles where I work, flowers are reduced in price when they're close to their useby dates, then reduced even further if they still haven't sold. Unfortunately by then, most bunches are pretty dead or close to it, no hope at all of selling them. Nothing is ever given away, sadly.
I love flowers in the house too, but with my hayfever I can't have them. - August 16, 2010 at 11:33 pm
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How Fun!
- August 16, 2010 at 6:58 pm
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Getting flowers is fab! My DS is 34 now so I get them sent occasionally! I do try to treat myself to a small bunch every couple of weeks though. I have a space on a shelf that just cries out for flowers!
- August 16, 2010 at 9:16 am
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My husband also refuses to buy me flowers, citing that I'll know he's done something wrong if he does. The last time he bought me flowers was when we were still dating. He was late because he'd been out on the turps the night before. He made himself an hour later, driving around the service stations of Canberra trying to find a bunch of flowers. We've both agreed that it's best he doesn't do that again.
- August 16, 2010 at 8:15 am
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Awww. Happy Monday, sweethearts.=)
- August 16, 2010 at 8:13 am
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I love flowers too. The only flowers I'll happily buy myself are daffodils and jonquils at this time of year. They are so darn cheap, I can happily splurge and get 3 big bunches for about $5. And they smell devine. Free roses that last a couple of days are still a couple of days of flowery happiness
- August 16, 2010 at 8:00 am
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I do and don't like flowers. I have a funny relationship with them and when I do think they are fine as gifts. Something I really should blog about otherwise I would be writing a huge comment.
- August 16, 2010 at 7:58 am
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You know I love this. And freebies, even better, and white roses are gorgeous…….xx
- August 16, 2010 at 7:48 am
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Awww what a lovely unexpected gift you were given.
- August 16, 2010 at 7:45 am
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I couldn't agree more with you on this one.
I love flowers in the house. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, the world a better place.
Flowers for a reason are special.
Flowers for no reason are even special-er.
Free flowers for no reason…nothing is better than that.
You lucky thing, they are gorgeous!! - August 16, 2010 at 7:07 am
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I love flowers but can't justify any one spending on $10.00 or more on me for something that will just last a few days as well.
Also on top of that I can smell at all so don't even know if the house is burning down & what the smell of any flowers smell like but it doesn't stop me loving the colours of flowers
- August 16, 2010 at 4:38 pm
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Awwww! That is so lovely that you got a surprise bunch! Hope you have a beautiful week!
- August 16, 2010 at 2:54 pm
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Yes, love a freebie! Make those beautiful white roses extra spesh, yes?
- August 16, 2010 at 11:18 am
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Those rosess were beautiful. I can see why they made you smile!
- August 16, 2010 at 9:33 am
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I miss having a garden, if only for all the 'free' flowers – Mum always had roses and freesia and stock and sweetpea … list goes on, the house always smelled beautiful!
The last bunch of flowers I received were from the local florist. She felt sorry for me when I said I didn't receive any flowers on Valentine's Day, so she gave me a bunch (from the day before) of roses for free!
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100 Days. – RRSAHM
100 Days.
This post is brought to you by Nuffnang.
***
I’ve been asked to write a post to raise awareness about gambling. About how many people it affects when it becomes a problem. About how difficult it can be to ask for help…
There’s such a stigma that surrounds problem gambling. The same kind of uneasy, shameful silence that stops people from speaking out about other addictions and mental health problems. I guess a big part of it is that feeling that it’s your own stupid fault; that if you were a better person you’d be able to resist temptations and have more control over your own mind.
I really don’t understand people who think like that. When you strip us all down, everyone has something. Whether it’s alcohol or cigarettes or drugs or fast food. Whether it’s periods of anxiety or depression, or generally hating the world. How is it possible to have no faults, no abject personality traits that you have no control over?
When I was very little, my parents owned a TAB- a gambling agency. It was just one part of the multi-faceted business they ran in Paradise. A TAB, fishing tackle, and video hire store, all rolled into one tiny shop on the main street of the town. I spent a lot of time there as a child.
I didn’t get it, until I was older. It was only in retrospect that I understood the handful of men who seemed to be in the TAB every week for hours. It wasn’t until I was a teenager and heard my mum talking about watching people gamble away a week’s wage in a few short, hopeful hours, that I realised how very sad a place it was.
I’ve stayed away from gambling, successfully, for my entire life so far. Maybe because of that early exposure. Maybe just due to being lucky. I have such an addictive personality… I know what it’s like to feel control over something slowly slipping away. Wanting to stop, but not being able to, the promise of a potential reward being far too sweet and far too needed to resist.
Addiction- any addiction- it’s a difficult thing. I know a handful of people who have no addictive tendencies, and I envy them. I comfort myself by thinking that surely they’re all screwed up in other ways instead.
Anyway. The point of this post is to simply raise awareness of gambling and the problem it can be, not only for the person who is gambling but also their family and the people they love. Gambling is like any other activity – it’s best enjoyed when you’re in control of it, not when it’s in control of you.
Less than 10% of people with gambling problems ask for help, mainly because of the shame and stigma attached. Like any stigma- the only way to break it is to talk about it.
***
The Fight For The Real You 100 Day Challenge encourages people to talk about and take control of their gambling- whether that means stopping altogether is up to you. The fightforyou.com.au website also features 24/7 help advice and support. It doesn’t even have to be forever- just 100 days.
But if habits form in 28 days… then 100 days could be enough to break one.
Free, confidential help and information is available for gamblers and their families, 24/7 through Gambler’s Helpline 1800 858 858 or Gambling Help online.
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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
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March 20, 2014 at 11:55 pm -
March 12, 2014 at 11:52 am -
I grew up in a pub, so I saw it too. People putting their whole paychecks through the pokies in an hour or so. I’ve got a massively addictive personality, but it’s one thing I’ve never understood – most likely because I saw the effects of it right up close.
This was a great post, Lori.
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The ‘Yay For Spring’ GiveAway
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
Moving to Melbourne
Moving to Melbourne
I spend Monday combing, combing, combing. My daughter and I have a rampant case of head lice. I’ve never had them before, and find the tiny crawling bugs to be just about the ickiest thing I’ve ever encountered. The Bump is grimly fascinated with the concept of having eggs in her hair.
I spend Tuesday night in the dodgiest hotel on earth.
That might be a slight exaggeration. but only by a little bit. Albury is not known for its glamour.
The kidlets and I are driving to Sydney, for my brother’s engagement party. It’s a long haul– eight hours. But cheaper, marginally, to drive rather than fly, even with two night’s accommodation tacked on top of petrol costs. So that is what we do.
The reception office at this hotel is locked. Checking in requires walking the kidlets through a grotty, dingy pub, and presenting ourselves at the bar. It smells like cigarette smoke and footy. It’s an old scent, ground into the grungy carpet. It’s as old as the barflys themselves.
I take my kids out to eat Maccas for dinner and burn off some of that accumulated energy from sitting in the car for hours. They are good travellers, both of them. It’s one of those parenting oxymorons– three hours in the car leaves me exhausted, but them wired.
Our hotel room is tiny, three beds crammed into one room. A bar fridge and kettle hidden in a cupboard. A bathroom with the very basics. A letter from the local police constable, reminding us to lock up our car and hotel room and keep the blinds drawn, is tucked into the hotel service book. The Foxtel channels don’t work, nor does the wifi. The three of us curl into the double bed and watch movies on my iPad.
I’m tired, so so tired. I have pimples on my face, my hair needs a good dye job. I’d underestimated how easy I had it, in TinyTrainTown. This full time parenting gig is hard slog.
But I’m loving my kids so hard right now. They are such a comfort, a balm to anxiety and adult fears. Right here, between them, their sleepy blonde heads on my lap… this is where I’m supposed to be.
{ 4 comments }
I think the only bonus to being prone to depression is that you can recognise it quickly when it happens. Even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. Or to your partner. Or to the people who love you, a thousand kilometres away.
I woke up yesterday morning crying. It’s not just a matter of being tired, of waking up to my daughter six or seven times every night. It’s not just being sick, having gastro, and the sinus infections seep into our house like small, unwanted vermin. It’s not just this Melbourne weather, being cold all the time, and never knowing when it will rain. It’s not just being broke and worried about money. It’s not just missing my mum, missing my friends. It’s not just feeling as though I’m never on top of things, like I’m always behind and disorganised.
It’s all of that… and none of it. It’s this black dog that nips at my heels, that eats happiness as though it’s scraps of food thrown out too early.
I have this whole new life, and it’s supposed to be okay. It’s supposed to be easy.
It’s not easy, and I’m not coping. And I hate myself for feeling like this. I hate myself for hating myself, and then I hate myself some more. The meds reach the outer boundary of their effectiveness- they make it so I’m able to feel nothing at all. But not so much that they can conjure up happiness, not so much that they can shed light on this kind of darkness.
I give up on cleaning the house, give up on showering, stop walking the kids to school and choose the easier option of driving them instead. I cant write. I haven’t been laughing at anything much. My sex drive is non-existent. I don’t bother putting on make up, or wearing anything other than jeans and black t-shirts. I have strange dreams. I wander round in a foggy half state, not thinking about anything much– my consciousness is stuck in past tense, events from years ago swirling through my brain with such thickness nothing new gets through. I am a ghost of myself, haunting my New House that doesn’t really feel like mine at all.
I don’t look forward to anything much, right now. Looking forward to things would mean I’d have to feel something, and I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling anything right now.
I have a doctor’s appointment today. They can’t up my medication any higher than what it currently is… but I’m telling myself that, surely, a good shrink is going to help.
{ 18 comments }
My Bumpy Girl is not entirely happy in our new life in Melbourne. I’m not exactly sure if that’s because she’s genuinely not enjoying herself or, as her brother so distinctly put it, because “nothing makes her happy!”.
Quite possibly, it’s a little of both.
The Bump is, by nature, a contrary soul, always more than comfortable to declare she “does not like!!” various ideas, facts, flavours, feelings, and concepts.
She’s happier still to make the point that she ‘loves’ things others may not. Rainy days. Liquorice. Long drives. Being cranky. (“Why do you yell all the time, Bump? Doesn’t it make you cranky?” “I like yelling. And I like being cranky!!”)
Miss Contrary. Photo courtesy of The KidStore, who are awesome.
Her older brother takes to life in Melbourne the way he takes to most things– a well worn glove, an easy going shrug. Water that rolls off the far-too-old feathers of my little ducklings back. The Chop adores his new life here. He loves his school. He loves the busyness of the city, the trams and bikes and new people to chat to. The street art excites him, the culture of music and movement is his haven. He misses his old school and his old friends still, sure. But I’ve watched him open and bloom since we’ve moved here. He sucks in this new environment as though it’s oxygen and sunlight, and spreads his soul to it accordingly.
But my baby girl… she breaks my heart. She doesn’t like it here, she tells me. She wants to go back to our TinyTrainHouse, back to her old school where she was so comfortable and had so many friends. She would like to go back to New South Wales, she says, and live with her Nonna– my mum.
Ouch, ouch, ouch. Hearing your child say something like that hurts in an undignified, immature way. You know they don’t mean it. You know the very thought of you leaving them would, in reality, be unbearable to them.
But even knowing all that, it still pulls at that place deep inside where you feel soft and vulnerable. It makes you want to cuddle up next to them a cry a few little tears for yourself, for how it hurts to hear that.
Despite what she tells me, I watch her ever-so-slowly settle further into her life here as the time slides along. She becomes more content as she forgets how life was before, and accepts it as it is now. I watch as she timidly makes new friends at her kindergarten. I feel it as she and I become closer, love each other more and more.
It’s heartbreaking and satisfying, both at once. It’s about finding some kind of confidence that, despite that horrible experience we shared, despite that deficit I always feel is there, I can love her enough. I can love her all that she needs.
{ 6 comments }
Divorce. – RRSAHM
Divorce.
Rejection is rejection, whether we call it divorce, puppy love, or adolescent turmoil.
Have you thought about how this relationship will end?
Judy Blume, ‘Forever’.
I don’t consider myself married anymore.
Two months, and I’ve taken my wedding ring off.
Partly because it was just too painful to leave it on.
It would be different, I think, if Tony had died in an accident. If he hadn’t meant to leave us, leave me, with this.
I don’t think he did, really. Not the Tony I knew.
But he did leave us. He left me. And he meant to, he did it on purpose.
It feels like a divorce. Like he didn’t just leave me, he left me broken and alone and afraid and he did that out of spite.
And there’s nothing to forgive, but at the same time how can I ever forgive him for that…? For that spite, that hatred?
A divorce, then. A cutting of ties. Wedding vows, broken, stomped on, disregarded. In sickness and in health. he was there for me in my sickness…. why couldn’t I be there for him, too?
He just wouldn’t let me.
Our weddings vows were so short, sweet, simple. To love and care for one another. to keep life interesting.
For as long as we both shall live.
And that’s the difference here.
Part of me feels like we didn’t die, still married.
He broke those vows, divorced me, the second he put that rope around his neck.
In my darkest hour, there’s too many flowers….
If this is it, then here’s where I’ll sit.
Goodbye, darlin’, goodbye.
“Goodbye Darlin”, The Waifs
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{ 50 comments… read them below or add one }
- August 25, 2011 at 11:09 am
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Lori i just stumbled on your blog and i'm heart broken for you and your children. I don't have and words of wisdom for you or good advice. i cant say i have ever been in your shoes or close to it. I do know by reading your posts that you are a strong person and i hope someday you will look back at these post and realize that.
- March 12, 2011 at 7:21 pm
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I'm sure that although this feels like a divorce to Lori (which I totally get, in the early days, I was thinking to myself that it must feel this way, but didn't want to upset her by saying it), that doesn't mean that she's saying she isn't upset about Tony anymore, or doesn't care anymore.
If this were a divorce where Tony was still alive, I'm sure no one would bat an eyelid if she were to take her ring off in the same space of time. I'm 100% with Sarah on this. Some people wanted her to move on, now she's actually showing signs of it, it's all, 'how could you!?"
He made a choice to leave her in a really horrible way, and although she owes him nothing for what he's put her through, she still loves him.
Just because you were Tony's friend doesn't mean that Lori's feelings are any less important or valid. She's the one left to pick up all the pieces, and I say good on her for giving it her best shot.
Also, I've learnt over the years that people who don't deal with their grief well, usually find some poor victim to take their anger and grief out upon.
All I can say to those of you on here who are obviously doing that, is move along. Go face your grief honestly and stop kicking a woman when she's at the lowest point in her life
- March 12, 2011 at 1:29 pm
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Hey Anon, "…this post WOULD break his heart" – my caps. 'Would' is the operative word here. By considering the departed's 'feelings' above the one left with the biggest mess to clean, you are essentially prioritising your own feelings. Why in blue fuck should Lori walk on eggshells out of deference to a heart that doesn't beat any more – let alone have the capacity to break?
Admit it. It hurts YOU to read this stuff. Simple answer – don't read.I have been through what Lori is going through, and 10 years on, I'm still angry. Feelings don't always heed logic or dissenting opinion. You can SAY any manner of things to assuage others, but then you'd be lying to them – and most importantly – yourself.
This kind of purging, raw honesty to self is exactly what it takes to heal healthily. Lori's readers are not her responsibility. If you have a problem with this – HER virtual House of Words – I would advise taking ownership of your own reactions. She doesn't do this to you – you do it to yourself by reading. Making this about you actually seems rather narcissistic.I understand you are hurting. I'm sorry you are hurting. Try your best to heal without relying on how another's mode of healing makes you feel.
- March 11, 2011 at 6:07 pm
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Dear anonymous bastards (I think you know who you are) if you really are Tony's 'friends' and 'family' (as opposed to just random disturbed weirdos) then I'm not surprised he didn't feel like he could share his problems with you. If I was surrounded by people with zero compassion, negative empathy, who would rather any uncomfortable truths were swept under the carpet and Were unbelievably judgemental even in the face of the most horrific tragedy I wouldn't exactly be dropping by to share my problems either. Has it occurred to you that if you were a better more supportive friend he might have talked to you? Has it occurred to you that what would be hurting him now is the callous behaviour of his so called friends towards his grieving widow when complete strangers are doing their best to support her? No? What's that? You don't like being judged and blamed for your 'friend's' suicide? You don't like people telling you how you should behave? If you don't like what you're reading close your browser window. If only Lori's problems were that easily solved.
thepixiechick - March 11, 2011 at 5:43 pm
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Love you Lori.
I still consider myself married (as opposed to widowed) but then, my husband died in different circumstances. I am going to have to come to terms with this at some point …. just not yet.Anon needs to pull his/ her head in. Anon – your complete and utter ignorance, lack of common sense and compassion is showing. (In other news, so is your woeful command of the English language – learn the difference between homophones like 'we're', 'wear' and 'where' please!)
- March 11, 2011 at 4:13 pm
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Ooh the anon poster strikes again.
People were hassling Lori to move on before Tony had been gone for 6 weeks & now? Now that she is, she's coping abuse again. WTF is wrong with you "anon" people? You will never be happy with this situation, never. She moves too slowly, she moves too quickly. Seriously Anon, how do you think she should be moving? In all honesty, what do you expect of her. You say you are a friend… Have you been there? Have you hugged her, asked her how her day was, offered to help? Or have you just sat on the sidelines cowardly writing anonymous comments that cause her even more grief? Anon commenters were telling Lori to grow up, I think you should do exactly that.
Lori hun, I think this is an amazingly strong move. I understand it completely, well as much as someone outside the situation can. You write it so it makes sense, so we can understand. We all know you love him dearly & will forever but some things you need to do.
- March 11, 2011 at 2:48 pm
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@Anonymous – don't you think LORI's heart is broken to have to write this? and she is trying to heal it in the best way she knows how?? Don't like it don't read and stop hiding behind "anonymous".
Lori I have read and read and read for months and haven't posted because I have literally thought "this is fucked and what can I do". My heart breaks for you all every day but I wanted you to also know that I think what you are doing is SO important.
I listen to Triple J and yesterday on hack they talked about suicide prevention and mental illness. Suicide is our biggest killer of young people and we don't talk about it enough. Person after person came onto the program stating people need to TALK about suicide. Young people need to know there are choices there for them, they need to know they aren't alone and if they are affected by suicide in their lives they need to know there are others out there to support them when it impacts their lives.
The whole time while I was listening I thought of you. Strong, brave, outspoken woman who is doing exactly what need to be done to make an impact in our communities for men in particular who see no way out. I think as time goes on and continue healing you will continue making a significant impact on people. Small comfort when you have lost your soul mater, best friend and lover and I cannot imagine your pain or anguish but know that people are continually holding your hand. xoxo
Tanstar
- March 11, 2011 at 1:53 pm
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You want judgement anonymous, what about who put her into the place she is right now. Choose your side carefully. And don't throw stones in glasshouses.
Lori – please please please, keep writing, keep feeling.
We are all still here
Leanne xo
- March 11, 2011 at 9:42 am
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"he was there for me in my sickness…. why couldn't I be there for him, too? He just wouldn't let me."
Oh, hon. That just brings instant tears. Very, very sad. I am so sorry for your broken heart. Ignore the ignorant. Please, just ignore them. You're on the right track, you know it deep down (even if sometimes you can't even see the path you thought you were slowly stepping). Trust that it's there, you'll get through this. Big hugs.
- March 11, 2011 at 12:13 am
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Anonymous- fuck off. i wish he hadn't hung himself. That broke my heart, and his mothers. If you don't like it, then by all means never come here again. I'm not going to stop writing what i feel. Again, fuck off.
- March 10, 2011 at 10:43 pm
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Anonymous……don't read this blog anymore if it bothers you. I simply don't get people that read a blog that they say pisses them off, feel like they can criticize said blog and complain about how what they are reading here bothers them. Don't read it then!
This is Lori's way of healing from a horrible life event and she's doing what she can to try to live with the pain. No one, no one, can ever critize her for how she feels and how she handles it. She's entitled to handle her loss however she can. If taking off her wedding ring and feeling like she's divorced is helping her, then so be it. This may change in another few weeks/months, etc as she continues to work through her pain.
I think it's wrong that her husband hanged himself in front of her and her child and people are judging how she's handled herself since then. I would be writing my thoughts too, if someone I loved more than life itself decided to do something as horrific as that in front of me and my children. Writing is cathartic to many people and Lori has every right to put her thoughts out there for this- it can be very healing. If you don't like it Anonymous, don't read her blog anymore- all you are doing is upsetting yourself and that can be avoided by simply STOPPING!
- March 10, 2011 at 10:26 pm
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Honestly people Lori is putting her words out there, your all allowed to have an opinion so here's mine, not everyone is going to agree with what she has to say all the time. As Tonys friend I know for a fact this post would brake his heart along with his mothers. I wish you wouldn't put such harse blogs up for all his loved ones to see, I mean isn't there a more private way to do your business? Speak to your mother, councilor friends other family members? If your so desperate for someone to know. I think it's wrong. There i said it I've been reading your blog since u started & never commented even though there have been Many times i have been beyond furious!
- March 10, 2011 at 9:28 pm
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I can understand how you feel like this. For now, it's what is right for you and thats all that matters. As with everything, there is no right or wrong, only what works for you, what feels the most fitting.
I came over to see how you were doing and I'm feeling a little odd as I just got told about a work friend who finds herself in the same situation, last night her husband left her with their 3yo and her expecting their 2nd. And I just feel numb. Sorry, an unhelpful comment, sorry but I just can't understand and not sure how to help, or what to say. Maybe, over time, reading your journey could help her I don't know. x
- March 10, 2011 at 9:28 pm
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Lori, my thoughts are with you. I totally respect you for writing this down, putting it out there, regardless of the fact that sanctimonious tossers like the first anonymous above feel the need to pour their selfish vitriol onto you. Keep doing what you need to do Lori, feeling what you need to feel and sod ANYONE else's opinions. This is not about them. It was your marriage – not theirs. Keep going, lady – you're doing good xxxx
- March 10, 2011 at 8:39 pm
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To the first Anonymous,
(Lori I apologize if I'm out of line butting in on this)You can't understand Loris thinking and wheres her loyalty? ffs Have you not read what this poor woman and her children are going through?
How dare you judge her until you've walked a mile in her shoes. I think she can do what ever the hell she likes really. My gosh how bloody rude of you. - March 10, 2011 at 8:18 pm
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Obviously, I meant to start that final sentence with "I'm not sure…"
- March 10, 2011 at 8:00 pm
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To Anonymous above, I think you'll find marriage vows are usually "till death do us part." And given the extenuating circumstances I think Lori, in particular, is entitled to feel how she feels. I'm sure what good you feel posting such a hateful comment could do.
- March 10, 2011 at 5:27 pm
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2 months and you consider yourself divorced I don't understand your thinking at all. You where with him for 5 yrs & it has taken you this short of time to move away from your commitment. Where is a wifes loyalty I ask. This sounds harsh but I dont even know how u could even consider it.
- March 10, 2011 at 3:56 pm
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I also agree with Marianna Annadanna and Jaqi.
It's okay to put the wedding ring away, but never forget where it is. - March 10, 2011 at 1:46 pm
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Wow, I have just found your blog. I am not sure how I found it. I hope for you, I send my thoughts for your tough time. I send love from above.
- March 10, 2011 at 8:47 am
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Thinking of you still Lori. If you don't feel you can forgive something, who says you have to? Maybe you will in time, but there's no set agenda. Do you still sit in the garage & talk to Tony? Tell him you're pissed at him! Eventually you'll find you don't have the energy for the anger, because without realising it, your energy will all focussed on other stuff & when that day comes I will fly out there & do a little happy dance with you
But until then, just let the anger in, once a day, for five minutes. And then walk away from it until the same time tomorrow. Love & hugs
Sophie xxx - March 10, 2011 at 4:55 am
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Thinking of you today. I can't imagine the grief associated with your ring. Hang in there.
- March 10, 2011 at 3:18 am
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I'm so sorry. There is something to forgive. He hurt your horribly, and the fact that he's not around to ask for forgiveness doesn't mean he doesn't need it. Or maybe you need it. Or maybe it's just a matter of forgiving God for putting you through this. Either way I've found forgiveness is an important part of grieving.
Hope this helps, if it doesn't please ignore me.
- March 10, 2011 at 2:46 am
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i just want to say that i am still here, reading, thinking, praying and hoping. i support you.
i also agree with a couple of posters. the letting go of the need to forgive- not even permanently but just letting go for now- i think could be a relief. but its your experience and i again, support what you need to feel.
also… its like the man when he was ill became the opposite of himself. i dont think his actions were about you, no matter what he said- i think they must have been about him and where he was mentally, and maybe just needing some space or quiet. i dont think he got what he was doing….
i dont know if any of that helps.
i just wanted you to know that i am listening, and supporting.
much love
- March 10, 2011 at 2:04 am
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dear lori-
The Man i read about before almost seems like the exact opposite of the man who did this to you and your family. i agree with the others who think that it was not about him and not you, no matter what he said.
i do know that where ever he is, he is so sorry.
… i guess the whole point of this comment is to let you know that i think about you and pray for you so often, and that i am still reading and still hoping and still supporting.
much love.
- March 10, 2011 at 1:01 am
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Hi Lori,
I have nothing that I can say that I can think would help you in anyway…what you are going through is entirely unfathomable to me, so I am just going to tell you that I am rooting for you (and so are lots of others)…and wishing you strength.
You know what you are going through and what you need to do, and do what feels right for you.
Much love,
Trisha - March 9, 2011 at 10:05 pm
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Hey Lori, been reading for a while but never commented. I just wanted to tell you that your writing is incredible – so raw and uncensored…you have a real gift.
I hope you find peace soon.
Hugs, Vicki x - March 9, 2011 at 9:45 pm
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Hugs
- March 9, 2011 at 9:25 pm
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You don't need to forgive him pumpkin….you can be angry and hurt. It doesn't stop the love…it doesn't change the fact you loved and will always love him. He chose wrong, and sadly it wasn't a choice he could ever apologize for. But he's still with you honey….if he is as willful in the afterlife as he was in this one, he'll be sticking to you like glue…look for little signs of hope. Little points of joy…and he'll be there. He'll always be there. Just not in the way he promised.
xoxoxo - March 9, 2011 at 9:03 pm
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I don't know what to say except do what you feel is right for you.xxx
- March 9, 2011 at 8:08 pm
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I'm so sorry, Lori. Having a partner stomp and crap all over your marriage vows stinks. I will never understand that.
- March 9, 2011 at 8:01 pm
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really
- March 9, 2011 at 7:31 pm
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I can't fathom the loss you're feeling – it must feel so empty – sadness mixed with anger, grief, love and devastation.
I know you will get through with your babies. - March 9, 2011 at 7:22 pm
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As Winston Churchill would say you have plenty of this: "Courage is rightly esteemed the first of human qualities… because it is the quality which guarantees all others." It may not be much of a consolation but courage will get you through this. xxx
- March 9, 2011 at 2:57 pm
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You have so many impossible emotions to deal with, that can't be an easy thing to do. I imagine it would always be hard, but I hope that it's getting a tiny bit easier for you each day. xox
- March 9, 2011 at 1:55 pm
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"They" say that death is easier than divorce. I am not sure who "they" are. But I think that in yours and Tony's case, it is too horribly blurred to be true.
xx
- March 9, 2011 at 1:29 pm
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I think the months that lead up to what happened must have been incredibly intense and torturing for both of you.
I haven't read every day but I suspect a LOT was going on and whatever way you find to deal with it is right, Lori.
I have had to separate very drastically from someone who meant a lot to me once. it was too bad. For me, that person is dead now. - March 9, 2011 at 1:19 pm
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Such an interesting concept – I wish I could offer more insight or wisdom. But I'm thinking of you…
- March 9, 2011 at 12:52 pm
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I think there are some things we may never be able to wrap our minds around, and this can include the thought processes of someone who is in a space we've never occupied. I don't know what to say, other than I understand the need to try to work it all out. Love you, babe. xx
- March 9, 2011 at 12:36 pm
- March 9, 2011 at 11:06 am
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I'd think Tony leaving you was less about leaving *you*, and more about freeing *himself*… escaping from all the pain and distress he was in.
Although he may have said some things to the contrary, you must know the real Tony, *your* Tony, wouldn't have wanted to punish you like this.
Still sending you LOVE, STRENGTH, and PEACE,
Marianna - March 9, 2011 at 11:04 am
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*HUGS*
- March 9, 2011 at 9:45 pm
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This is how you feel now.
Honor the feeling and the choices at the moment.
Put the wedding ring away but know where it is.
You never say never ..apparently & one day, you may choose not divorced. - March 9, 2011 at 10:29 am
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Two steps forward, one back. Still cheering you on girl xxx
- March 9, 2011 at 10:26 am
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I understand right now that your trying to make sense of it all. You need a reason, a motive and answers! Lori, healing eventually will help you accept that no matter how painful or how mean it is, you might not get your answer.
You deserve one more than anything. - March 9, 2011 at 10:25 am
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It seems like Perth has started to help you heal.
Much love to you gorgeous. - March 9, 2011 at 10:15 am
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I always assumed divorce was worse than widowed because it is rejection rather than forced seperation. I had a friend whose divorced husband died from a heart atatck a while after they divorced she said for the children dealing with death seemed easier than dealing with split parents, they coped better, they were no longer torn between two parents. Is this relevant to you? probably not, just the train of thought you put me on. Love to you XXX
- March 9, 2011 at 11:55 am
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I agree with Marianna Annadanna. From all you've said, it seems to me you know him very well…you know he loved you and those babies. The man I've read about would never have wanted the three of you to hurt or want for anything. And he wouldn't want to hurt the rest of his family or his friends either. Sending you thoughts of peace.
- March 9, 2011 at 10:56 am
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one of the best things EVER I was told when I was dealing with extreme pain caused by my partner was that I should let go of the need to forgive. What he did was unforgiveable according to my code so why should I forgive? It didn't mean that I should hang on to my anger and pain – it just meant that I could let go of the burden of having to forgive. Fuck! The freedom I felt when I listened to that advice. It took a while but it did take me to a gentler place.
- March 9, 2011 at 10:00 am
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Not sure what to say Lori. It is still all so impossible to comprehend xo
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The ‘Yay For Spring’ GiveAway
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Search: label/blogging
“You can be anything you want to be online. Why do so many people choose stupid?”
If you read this blog… do you trust me?
Why…?
I’ll confess I am an inherently trusting person– trust is my default setting and I’m always shocked and hurt upon discovering I can’t trust someone in the way I thought I could. That extends to online interactions and the social medias; to blogging, to Twitter, to Internet dating.
I was accused of lying on this blog in an anonymous comment a few weeks ago. It’s not the first time I’ve been accused of lying. But it’s the first time that accusation came with no emotional undertones, no nastiness and blame. This accusation was based on my facts not adding up, mathematically.
And it just pissed off no end.
It pissed me off more that it made it’s way under my skin, when we all know most anonymous comments are fifty percent troll and twenty percent coward. But it made me seethe, sent me hurtling to defend myself– which is, of course, the best way to make yourself look like you are deceiving someone.
Anyway. I wasn’t. And I think it annoyed so much because, dammit, I have done nothing but told the raw truth in this space for the last eighteen months. And I’ve bled for it, been flagellated not only by strangers but by people who I once thought loved me. And I’ve stuck firm, held my head up high, cried a thousand tears… and kept writing.
After all that, why would I lie about something so simple, when the story without it would have been enough…? When it was so dramatically coincidentally that it sounded like a fable anyway?
Do I not have enough drama on my blog already?
Whatever. The irony of it is such a kick in the head. I remember, somewhere in the murky haze of those first few days After, waiting with a sliding paranoia for someone to accuse me of lying, call me a troll. Again, it was a story so remarkable that it almost seemed fiction, and I wouldn’t be surprised, nor would I blame anyone for it, if there had been a few covert enquiries made to ensure I was telling the truth.
The further we trek into the After, the less I worry about that– it never crosses my mind, to be honest. Surely, the work involved in carrying on such a long, arduous second life would surely be too monstrous to attempt.
Then I read this article and that theory was blown out right out of the interwebs.
Emily Dirr pretended to be someone else for eleven years. Apparently- if you can believe anything at all in this particularly twisted destined-to-become urban myth- she grew with the Internet, from LiveJournal to MySpace to FaceBook, weaving a story that seemed plausible. How many bloggers do you know with extended, blended families; living lives so very different from your own? Isn’t that why we read other people’s blogs to begin with?
The story of J.S. Dirr, the digital entity Emily created, only untangled when reality bulged just that little too far past the boundaries of normal. After Dana Dirr, wife and mother to their nineteen children (step, adopted, fostered and natural) was run over on Christmas Eve, while pregnant with another child, on her way to work as a life–saving trauma surgeon…. someone took a closer look.
I can’t imagine why, really. Even compared to my story, that seems totally plausible.
Back when I first began blogging- when I was fresh meat at the time and had no real bearing on what was happening- there were a few women I knew on Twitter who, it came out, were duped by another blogger they believed they had supported through both a coma and chemotherapy. Even without knowing the finer details, and only just beginning to form friendships with the innocent parties, the sense of hurt and betrayal when this woman’s house of cards fell down was palpable.
They tell you not to believe everything you read, especially here online where identities are only as good as an email address and you can be whoever you please. Don’t we all someone who just doesn’t seem to add up, who gives you that funny ringing in the back of your mind that something is just not right…?
I’ve said before, good blogging is good story telling, and that involves omitting some details and emphasizing others. But that’s as far as it should go, surely. I know of at least one blogger who is happy to state her blog is thirty percent truth, seventy percent fiction– isn’t that pushing the balance of entertaining people with your truth and lying to them a bit too far?
It’s a rock and a metaphorical hard place. It’s not cynical, just practical and logical, to be aware that some people simply don’t have the sense of morals or truth or ethics (call it self–righteousness, for sure) as me or you might possess. It’s not something I like– my husband often accused me of living in some kind of fairy land where everyone was inherently good and people could be trusted– but that’s life, and forgetting that seems to be an almost guaranteed way of getting yourself hurt, embarrassed or taken advantage of.
But when the Internet is your community, that changes things. I’ve blogged before about the way online interaction is a healthy substitute for the direct psychical support of other women, other mothers; and IBM seems to agree that the further we hurtle into the 21st century, the more of our socializing will be done online. With that in mind, don’t we have a right to assume that the people we are talking to on Twitter or FaceBook, the person who’s blog or Tumblr we are following, is authentic, real, flesh and blood and exactly who they say they are?
Probably not. But we don’t even have that right when it comes to face to face, In Real Life contact– everything is, potentially, a scam, a lie or a threat.
You tie all those strings together– the digital, the Reality, the mediums used the communicate and the propensity of potential liars around– and you’re left with a strange, amateur crochet of an evolving society. Societies become communities when bonds are formed, and for that to happen, there has to be some level of trust, some sense of exposing of your vulnerabilities in the light of people’s ability to tread all over them, and their choice not to.
We have a community here. We expect authenticity from the people we feel we have a connection with. If we didn’t, it wouldn’t hurt so much, inspire so much anger, when we discover things just aren’t what they seem.
{ 29 comments }
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
Search: label/ink
Search: label/ink
Years ago, as an anxious angsty teen, I cut myself when things hurt.
I could say I don’t know how it began, because that’s easier than explaining the slightly long-winded truth; but that would, of course, be a lie- I remember how it started. The same way most of the things in life that end up being a really big do… as a little thing, just a stitch in time. An event that would have been forgotten had it not gained weight and strength, and bloomed; and eventually become part of who I am.
There was some strange kind of fashion amongst teenage girls, fifteen or so years ago, that was morbid and, albeit confronting and twisted, somewhat romantic. Whether it’s something teenage girls still do, I have no idea– for someone who once considered themselves so cool even the cool people didn’t get her, I am now an aging hippy who still listens to Triple J and gets excited at the thought of classic Tool albums being on iTunes.
Once upon a time, where I went to high school, if you had a boyfriend you were devoted to, you showed that by carving his initials into your skin.
I’m not going to say it was every girl who did this– most of the horse–riding, flute–playing Pollyannas most certainly did not.. But the girls like me– the darklings who didn’t quite fit in anyway– it was a status symbol, a way of showing you were owned. A mark to say you we’re good enough for someone to love you.
It started like that… “CL”.
And from there it became a habit that spasmed and grew, and I’m not entirely sure when it dug itself right into the base of my psyche… but it did.
It wasn’t immediate, discovering without even meaning to, without even realizing it, that self–inflicted pain had the ability to make all those other hurts fade away, dull and become insignificant. Just for a moment or two.. just for a little bit.
But I know it didn’t take long, not long at all. I carved those first two letters, wincing at the pain and only scraping through the top few layers of skin with the blunt edge of a tiny screwdriver, a tool that became a part of the ritual of hurting myself, of leeching emotional pain out via blood. And after I carved those first two letters, I began to add to them. Tiny words, a few millimeters high, carved and cut into the delicate skin on the back of left hand, being right handed as I was. A collage of single syllable observations that freckled my skin from just where my fingers branched out to the bracelet of wrinkles that signals the border between hand and arm. “Love”. “Hate”. “Pain”. “Life”. “Real”. “Sin”. “Want”. “Die”.
For a while, I wore those words like jewelry, akin to the tattoos and piercings I decorate my skin with now. They formed tiny scabs that I delicately removed, attempting to remove them as entire emotions, letters linked together. I took time doing them, lolling away Maths and English classes completely absorbed in forming words from blood- working hard at internalizing the pain, dripping a slow sheet of ice over my features so even the deepest cuts could not force me to wince.
IS it any surprise that, at the same time, I was in the midst of my first ever love affair…? I was losing all my self esteem for the first time over.
I can say ’I don’t know’ in reverence to this next sentence and mean it as truth. I don’t know exactly how it escalated. I don’t know when hurting myself went from a silly game to being potentially quite dangerous.
I don’t know when it was I discovered that I had developed an overwhelmingly scary habit of hurting myself every day… and no one was paying any attention.
But I do know, it happened quickly. That the words on my hands quickly, so quickly, became not enough, not deep enough… they didn’t hurt enough. A matter of simple biology– my pain threshold had increased. My mum, recently divorced and attempting to keep life together in a way I now understand more keenly than I ever would have wanted to, was distant and had little idea how to handle her depressed, hurting fifteen year old daughter. What could she do with an insecure teenager who felt as though she were screaming in constant pain but unable to force out a single keening sound? Who was mired in the flying, burning depths of a relationship that had somehow hit the depths of emotional manipulation in a way that was nearly impossible for two people who were still essentially children to understand?
This was life, untethered. I think maybe that’s what happens when you go off, headstrong and romantic and confident, rattling around the extended world too early, showing off your heart that’s too far down your sleeve. The real world… it eats you alive.
The simple innocence of words on my hand slowly crept and trailed themselves down my arm; where they morphed into slashes. Slashes that were deep and red, that bled thick ruby rivulets of myself that fascinated me as I soaked them with stark white tissues, watching as bright poppies of plasma bloomed through the acid ebb of the pain. It was ritualistic and addictive. When things hurt, when I felt like shit, I would take a short sharp paring knife, white handle with blue willow print, that I had pilfered at some point from my mother’s knife drawer; and remove it reverently from it’s hiding place. I would sharpen it with the heavy grey whet stone I had stolen from the same kitchen drawer. I would press Play on some music, something poignant and grotty… and then I would cut.
Deep breath in. Push the pointed tip of the knife into my skin until there is a tiny bead of blood. Turn the knife just slightly so the blood seeps upward and coats the blade.
Then push down, hard and straight into the skin. If you’ve sharpened it enough, the knife will slice into your flesh, past years of sun–sprinkled freckles, the very moment you put enough pressure on. You will feel your skin split, and the pain will bloom the same way the blood does. And that’s the point that smooth, cultured sheet of ice is required– bring it on with a deep breath, close your eyes just slightly and hold, hold everything, feel the entire universe pause as you soak yourself with pain.
Breath out. Let the pain, and the urge to sob or cry out leave with it.
Dead breath, oxygen depleted. Breath it out, grey and void.
And after that, after that first cut is done and your flesh bleeding and bruised… you just slice. Drag the knife across your skin, that ice barrier staid and static, controlled and concealing. Smile just slightly, almost sickly, just the very edges of your lips curling upward. Then watch the blood run, watch it pool and drip, bright red and reflective and rich with life.
Soak up that life, seep it onto pure white tissue. Again and again, until you have a small, crumpled pile.. a tiny snowdrift spotted with infinite murders.
Dress your wounds, should they need it. Pull on a shirt with long sleeves, even in the warmest of weather. Always, always keep the facade of ice in place.. you never know when you may need it. And get on with your day. (Not that the day of a teenager seems to entail much, I comparison with now. But there is no reality, only perspective– and perspective tells me, being a teenage girl was a bitch).
I don’t know if you’ve ever seen what we used to call a ’smiley’. It’s a burn inflicted with a heated, upturned disposable cigarette lighter. Years before the introduction of the metal safety guard on lighters that prevented tiny thumbs– often including my own– from flicking the roller against the flint, it was another one of those strangest of body arts. The head of the lighter, two bluntly serrated rollers, combined with the metal rim at the far side, applied hot and with a certain amount of determined pressure; would leave an imprint in the skin that, if done correctly, looked somewhat (morbidly) like a smiling face.
Writing that out, know, as an adult, I’m horrified– it sounds so macabre and barbaric. It was macabre and barbaric. It didn’t seem that way, then. Although it was, understandably, even more confronting than cutting my skin. And it generally wasn’t something girls did-that kind of depravity was reserved for the same boys who pulled wings off fly’s and were just killing time until the end of Year Ten when they could legally drop out of school and officially do Nothing for a living.
But burning myself was a step up from cutting myself– it hurt more. It left scars that were far more interesting. Cutting myself, the pain of it… It had reached a point, as all addictions and habits do, where it just wasn’t enough any more. It felt like a craving for something deeper– searing metal on tender nerve endings is a whole different kind of pain. It was far more difficult not to flinch from that kind of heat, to cover that agony with ice… it was so much more of a twisted, senseless, exquisitely painful achievement.
Six months, from memory, all that went on for. Six months of blood and burning and blisters and making only the vaguest attempts at hiding it from people– after all, what good is a cry for attention if no one else sees it but you? But it seemed as though all that metaphorical crying, screaming… it did no good. No one knew how to help me, and, to be honest, I cannot remember what it would have taken, what would have been classified as ‘helping’. Love, maybe. Lots of it. (The very same thing I need now…) My mum tried her hardest, I remember that– but I was vaguely impenetrable. I vaguely remember offers of appointments with counseling services that were too difficult to obtain and too far off to be of any benefit to a teenager whose synapses just couldn’t frame a proper picture of the future in her head.
Sometimes I wonder exactly how relevant this fact is to the rest of this story, how intertwined the two are. It may mean nothing at all. It may be an consequential key to the frame of mind I was in. Either way, it seems relevant to note- I’d just a few months before started taking the contraceptive Pill. Hand in hand, I’d just fallen into my first real, unyielding, all consuming bout of dark depression.
Whatever the reasons, complex or simple- I felt like flat, paper thin, dessicated, alone and adrift, almost all the time. It’s natural to crave and seek an endorphin rush, it’s just human nature… unfortunately, the only rush I could manifest came from the push of the knife into my skin, or the sear of a heated lighted making my flesh bubble.
As a teenager, there was no sense of ‘this too shall pass’, of the future being just that and the present passing quickly. It was, possibly, the most mindful I’ve ever been in my life… the only issue was, I felt awful, all the time. And that’s not really a great thing to be mindful of.
It’s difficult to remember, looking back a it, exactly what it was like. It was pain, all the time. It was wanting something desperately and not knowing what it was. It was hating myself so much, feeling so insignificant that bloodshed- a primal indicator of distress- seemed an appropriate becaon of my distress of on a daily basis.
It was crying tears of blood, tears with substance; because nobody saw the salt ones. Real tears are clear like glass and people look straight through them… blood is never so easy to ignore.
I look back at what happened then, at how disconnected I was from myself, from my mother, and I wonder if that was me, reacting to my parent’s divorce, or her? Or just both of us, combined with life unpleasant? I carry the guilt now of how much all this must have hurt her, how helpless she must have felt. I hope she knows– I think she does– that none of it was her fault, and that she did everything she could. That I know she did what she could with what she had, and I love and respect her dearly for it.
In the same way I have only the fuzziest memories of how all this began, I can only vaguely remember how it ended. I moved, changed schools, left a mother and brother to move in with my dad– that’s a guilt I can still carry now, when I choose, one that only increases the longer I am a mother myself. The new house I found myself living in, without a bedroom of my own, lacked the privacy with which to indulge in angst. A grandmother with an insistent verbal mantra of ‘You are beautiful, you are clever, you are funny’ helped immensely, as the did the wardrobe of new clothes she bought for me. Attending school without the bullies I’d grown accustomed to, working a part time job and earning money of my own… all those things built my self esteem like tiny bricks, stacking their tiny increments up against each other to form a wall that was more solid than what I’d known before. Put those elements together with suddenly being sixteen years old, rather than fifteen- birthdays are funny things– and finally seeing some future beyond the next few months; and, without my even really being aware, life became a better place to be. I remember feeling the urge to hurt myself, more than once, in the six months or so after I moved to that new house. But instead of feeling dark and fraught and pensive, I just felt stupid. ‘Maturity’, a psychologist has named that feeling in the years since. Maturity, being able to see that cutting ones self to pieces as an outlet for one’s emotional pain is not at all se
nsible, not eve close to being socially acceptable.
And yet the urge remains.
Many people who are ‘cutters’ will attest to it becoming an addiction of sorts, an impulse that stays with them for life. Most activities that release a rush of endorphins into the system are essentially addictive- we judge their suitability by the potential damage they do to us psychically and emotionally.
Cutting yourself, obviously, it damages both. It becomes an instant release -for any time you feel your emotions are not validated, your words are not heard.
If no one will see the pain inside, it can be worn on the outside instead.
For years, any deep emotional pain that involved interactions with other people, people visible and tangible, almost always resulted in me wanting– craving– that feel of a knife on my skin, the rush of pleasant hormones that accompanied the blood. The only exception to that rule was when Tony died– I remember my psych asking me, early on in the After, did I want to cut myself, to hurt myself? Try ice cubes, she suggested, pushing them into your skin hard, or perhaps a rubber band around your wrist so you can flick it if the urge to hurt yourself begins to take over. And I remember staring at her, my disbelief causing me to miss a beat before I corrected her. No… it was OK. I was not OK… but I wasn’t going to cut myself. That wasn’t nearly enough, not even nearly intense enough to dilute this emotional pain.
And the dilution of pain was half the point.
It’s only been lately, as the deepest of this particular begins to wear off and I start to feel something like myself again, that the urge to slice my own skin has returned. It happens whenever someone is leaving me, whenever someone I love goes away. Or even when I just think they might be– even the smallest abandonment feels as though the world is ending, as though the sky is falling in all over again.
The scars stayed with me for far longer than I would have liked– I could read tiny words on my hand for a year or so, and feel bumpy scar tissue along my left forearm (always my left forearm– attempt to cut me anywhere else and I would scream, cry, unable to conjure that sheet of ice that was necessary to hide what I was feeling… The nerve endings in that particular patch of skin so very used to being abused they take it with minimal complaint). Even now, fifteen years later, I have one scar that remains. It looks like a small white pock mark half way up my arm. I doubt you’d ever know it was once a huge, infected burn blister, the result of heated steel held on flesh so long I smelt my own skin burning sweetness and it nearly made me sick.
It’s been years since I cut myself, burned myself. Now, as some kind of responsible adult, when things get really intense I generally get something pierced, or I work my way up to a new tattoo. If all else fails I’ve been known to turn to felt tip markers and pens, drawing the pattern for slices I cannot make. On my left forearm, of course. The urge to do cut myself still centers itself there. So that is where I draw.
It must be that maturity kicking in, or something… but I don’t cut myself anymore, and I rarely feel the need to. I’m thirty one years old with a Real Life and two kidlets of my own– cutting myself feels far too very much emo teenager. And I was ‘emo’ even before the word ‘emo’ was invented. (I told you– so cool, others hadn’t even caught up to my cool yet. Or something.)
But sometimes I look back at that teenage girl– a different one again from the Lori I am now, or the Lori I was in the Before– and I feel so sorry for her I could weep. I want to tell her, it’s going to be OK… we are going to be OK.
I want to be sure I’m not lying to her.
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Dating in your early twenties is a completely different thing to dating in your early thirties.
Either that or dating in 2012 is totally different to dating in 2006
Or, quite possibly, both. And add to the mix the fact I’m coming into this dating game from an entirely different place to most people. And that the Internet is kind of weird to begin with.
Whatever. We already know that Internet dating is a very strange place. A few moths back, tired of having my vulnerabilities trampled upon, my heart broken and my belief in any kind of romance sadly disillusioned, I shifted my focus from the romantic–looking–for–my–soul–mate–to–go–walking–along–the–beach–with kind of websites to the more quissentially tacky ‘dating’ sites, complete with annoying flash ads, half naked couples on the home page and a veritable plethora of strange, lonely people all ‘Not Looking For A Relationship’ scanning the message boards and Online Now columns to find innocents like me to startle.
The communications that turn up in my inbox have shifted along with my change in sites. While they once consisted of a mix of normal type human male messages (’Hi how are you?’) and missives so strange, creepy or badly spelt they were laughable; they now entail a mix of normal male type messages (’Hi how are you?’) to offers and suggestions that either make me blush so fiercely I can’t check my email in public or actually require me having to Google terms to find out what they mean. (‘Bukkake‘. Don’t do it, you will regret it.)
I’m certainly not a prude and I really thought I was pretty damn knowledgable when it came to sex and that more adult side of life. Evidently I was very wrong. I’m fairly sure that some of the acts being suggested here aren’t even legal in many parts of the world. The total lack of desire I feel toward reading 50 Shades of Grey stems mainly from the idea that, compared to my inbox, it might just be boring.
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| I look like Mary freaking Poppins. Far too sweet to be tied up. Or handcuffed. |
I’m not sure why, but it didn’t strike me as surprising that most of the men responsible for sending these kinds of communiqués are affluent, hard working, well groomed professionals. I’m actually not sure what they’d do if this pierced, tattooed hippy chick who doesn’t drink champagne turned up on their doorstep… and my self esteem is definitely not in the place to be knocked around by trying to find out.
In addition to the Eastern Suburbs office workers who are into kinky sex, there’s another more disturbing trend I’m noticing in the online dating world. I’m not sure if it’s actually as prevalent as it seems or if it’s just the fact that I seem to be inherently attractive to that alpha–male type…
But the number of police officers who have a real thing for bondage is positively scary. To be honest, it seems to extend further than just coppers. It also includes security guards, army personnel and, in one particularly unsettling encounter, a seemingly geeky statistician… who just happened to work for an international ammunition company and had some kind of fantasy involving a petite woman in a dog collar. (And let’s not forget the potentially psychopathic abattoir foreman).
And in case you’re wondering– which I know you are– the generalized stereotype I’m referring to here are into doing the dominating, not being dominated.
I’m sure if I wasn’t so exhausted I could come up with some correlation between men and penii and guns and domination, and probably throw some phallic insecurity in there as well. I’m also sure that if this fact was more publicly known, there would be far fewer arrests– who wants to be locked in the back of a paddy van with someone who gets off on tying people up and whipping them?
Again, whatever. Given my aversion to rope, it’s probably not going to be my thing. But I can reassure you that the NSW judicial system is in respectable, ethical hands.
Out of all those coppers, not one has offered to use his handcuffs on me.
***
I’m sure he’s going to entirely love being tacked onto the end of this particular post. Heh.
Some of you will remember my mate Bear, who let me ride pillion for this year’s NSW Black Dog Ride.
This time around the Bear is doing the National Black Dog Ride– it’s a bigger, longer trip, all the way to Australia’s Red Centre- the Northern Territory. (While I seethe with vivid green jealousy and cursing my lack of available childcare…)
The sponsorship page for the Bear’s National Black Dog Ride is here. Any support you can throw his way is very much appreciated.
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Finally- video’s up. Sorry about that one guys… YouTube ate it the first time round.
I did an extremely stupid thing the other day. Extremely stupid. Quite possibly, the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
And of course, I filmed it for your viewing pleasure.
Now, before I go any further, allow me to disclaim… Backyard tattoos are an extremely stupid idea. The risk of scarring, blood poisoning and infection are massive and only an idiot would let someone do that to them.
And having said that, allow to present…. My new tattoo.
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| No, it’s not the Masterchef logo. It’s a spiral- symbol of renewal, energy and new life. Or something. |
Which was actually inked by a relative of mine who may have purchased his tattoo gun off eBay a few months ago.
He’s only practiced on himself so far, and has actually done a pretty damn good job on his own designs. Knowing that he is fairly sensible, that he would be clean and hygienic, and that I am… well… I’m not sure if the words here are ’gullible’, ’vulnerable’, ’stupid’ or ’charitable’. Whatever.
I volunteered to be his first human guinea pig. He was excited but reluctant. I promised a simple design. I also promised him that we’d put it somewhere easy to cover up, and that if he did fuck it up, I wouldn’t hold it against him.
And I meant it. Tattoos are life pictures. If I have a slightly dodgy design with a story behind it, inked on me by a family member, then so be it. I’m OK with that.
And isn’t that a good thing…? Heh. He has promised me he will touch it up. I’m not sure if I’m game. The only appealing factor about that is that I won’t have to go to a real tattoo studio and deal with the ’tsk, tsk, tsk, aren’t you a dickhead’ that I will inevitably cop from the tattooist.
So… enjoy the vlog. To give you a basic rundown…. I did not hack the pain very well. There’s probably a dozen reasons why– tiredness, lack of faith in the artist (*ahem*) the fact that my backyard tattooist seems to think a tattoo gun is a fucking texta and the ink will get darker if he carves harder into my skin.
But I’m actually going to blame the basic psychology of it– it’s much more difficult to be brave in your own home than in a studio surrounded by big tough tattooed blokes. Especially when your tattooist cannot stop laughing at you.
Whatever it was, I went into shock and only narrowly avoided vomiting or fainting. Then laughed hysterically.
As you do.
I know, I know… I’m a dick. Pleas feel free to reiterate this in the comments section, if you wish- I have my big girl pants on, promise.
But… hey… let’s look on the bright side. Not only no blood poisoning… but it could have come out much, much worse.
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Hahahaha. I love it! Such a shame to have lost someone who sounds like he would have been the laughter in your life.
Aww, so gorgeous!
Ah….boys. They're so weird.
Hehe – classic!
That is adorable. I think I just fell a little bit in love with your man Lori.