I’m in Perth, the far west coast of Australia.
I’m so relaxed, it took me by surprise. The second night I was here, I was standing in my friend’s bathroom, and for a moment I almost felt like I was going to faint. Like I was so light, I could just float away…
It took me a few seconds to realise that I was, quite simply, relaxed. And it’s been so long, so many endless days…. I’d forgotten what relaxed felt like.
I can feel my soul healing here. For someone with PTSD, there is no place more perfect than Perth. It’s so quiet here, even in the middle of the city. It’s so spacious. Houses aren’t squashed together, the streets are wide and clean and they feel fresh and unconstricting.
And the sky…. the first thing I noticed, stepping off the plane, was how endless the sky is here. Nothing but blue, and it goes for miles and miles, from one side of the horizon to the other, not interrupted by hills or the clutter of Sydney surburbia.
And the beach… the ocean. Cold and salty and energising. Laying back, floating so easily in the salt, eyes closed… like there is nothing else on earth but me, and the rushing, cosseting blanket of the Indian Ocean.
The other side of Australia. A whole different ocean, almost. A place I can swim, in the sea, and not have Tony’s ashes floating with me, clinging to me, abrasing me with guilt.
And a friend here, who knows me, who’s known me since I was six. Who doesn’t define me by my children, or Tony, or anything else that formed part of my Purple Life. Someone who knows the essence of me, because they’ve known me since I was so much less than, but so much more than, the boundaries of my adult life.
Someone who knows my soul, and makes me tea and toast, and took me to watch the sunset over the water. Someone who knows the essence of me, and loves me anyway, the way only the best of friends can do for you.
I met up with friends, my beautiful blogging friends, like Glow and The Fabulous Lady, and forum friends, who I’ve known for so long, and love so dearly… it was so lovely to put faces to blogs, to the stories of their life I already know about.
I’m being taken care of. I’m being weak and fragile and lost, the same way I have been for weeks. But the difference is I don’t have to pretend to be strong here. No one expects it of me, and there is no grinding life- bills and errands, things to make me anxious- to smack me in the face as soon as I wake up.
Thirty one hours until I have to fly home. I so wish I could stay.
I can feel myself, slowly, shakily, timidly, but quite percectably… I can feel myself healing here.