From what I’ve seen in movies and read in books, it’s usually a powerful, moving, unforgettable or defining moment in your life, like a near-death experience, that motivates you to wake up and smell the coffee and make the most of your life before you cark it. So I’m not entirely sure a screaming match with my man (which could have ended in a boxing match) counts as a ‘defining moment, seeing this has only taken place like a zillion times.

Guy gets drunk, and suddenly the ‘feelings’ come out. Starts ranting about how much I don’t ‘respect’ him, and tells me, yet again, to fuck off. Girl reacts by throwing butter at his head, which conveniently misses its target and ends up splattered all over the wall. Guy picks up what’s left over of the butter and flings it back at girl, and what do you know, girl gets remaining butter splattered all over arm. Guy wakes up the next morning, apologetic, sorry, remorseful – and says the words that girl has heard about, oh, only a thousand times – ‘I didn’t mean it.’ Girl doesn’t talk to him, and three days later, guy is probably beginning to feel like Casper the ghost.

Edited PG version of the events, by the way. Girl still can’t believe that, after all these years, she is still putting up with this shit. She just can’t seem to leave this fella alone, even though it’s pretty obvious to kingdom come and beyond that the dude brings out the worst in her. And that it is never going to change.

This is typically us.  The other morning, still hurting from the nasty words that spill from the man’s mouth after he’s gotta few in him, I caught myself in the mirror as I was getting dressed for work, and automatically started singing the tin man’s song – ‘if I only had a braaaaain.’ Because for real life, where is my brain at?? Why do I believe after thirteen long years that this will ‘never happen again?’ Why do I get lulled back into a false sense of security, only to be let down yet again. Dez isn’t a bad guy. Let me just state that as fact. He’s an awesome dad and a good provider. But like every other tom dick and harry, and contrary to what others believe, he DOES have a bad side. And that bad side coaxes the evil out of me easily…too easily!

I don’t like the person I become when I’m angry. Not many people have seen it, and those that have want nothing more to do with me these days.  If there just so happened to be a spanner in my hand, rather than butter, I still would have thrown at his head.  Hard.  As for my mouth…oh boy.  Karma has probably got something in store for me in that regard. Words have always had the potential to hurt me worse than a punch to the dome. But even worse is my mouth because, when it gets going, it can be just as bad as a punch to the dome too. At times I think it’s a miracle that me and Dez are still together after all the nasty shit that we have said to each other. But I guess that’s just how relationships roll.

Following these bust ups, I become the ultimate evil personified.  I purposely become nit-picky, snarky, bitchy, and downright difficult because that has always been my way of punishing Dez after he goes off on a drunken rant.  But it was different this time.  Three days passed and even though you could have sworn it was just me and baby in the house, and Dez really was Casper the ghost, I just…well, simply put, I just didn’t care.  On the third day, I found I’d gone totally blank. I approached Dez when he got home from work the other day and was all ‘how was your day’ as if I didn’t throw butter at his head or treated him as if he didn’t exist for three whole days in a row. He responded with a ‘good, mubs, how was yours and babies day?’ and that was that. Over with. Life carried on as per usual. I was waiting for the ‘we should talk about this’ topic to come up…but it didn’t. Deep down in my heart of hearts, I already knew, and probably have known for a long time – that there was nothing to talk about. There was nothing that we would have said or discussed or compromised that we hadn’t of already said, discussed or compromised a thousand times before. It would have been like playing a scratched record. I felt so blank it was weird. Not entirely sure what’s up with that?

It’s like I’m not worried about fixing us anymore, and if that isn’t a defining moment, I dunno what it is.

Gone blank. Completely blank. Honest…there’s just….nothing…???

the mind fuck strikes…again…


Sometimes, I get too cocky for my own good. I convince myself that I am this invincible force to be reckoned with, and nothing or nobody is going to fuck me over. I have moments where I zealously live my life according to my own rules, on my own terms, and charge like a raging bull, towards what I feel is rightfully mine – success and happiness. I reach out and grab hold of it, like how my girl reaches out to a piece of chocolate, and throw a humongous tantrum if anyone tries to intervene. That’s how life has been for me of late. Don’t mess with me.   Stay outta my way. Proceed with CAUTION because this bitch is on a mission!

And then, the dark forces in my mind come out to play. It never fails to shake me back to reality, and it seems to do it effortlessly, too. I have haters, whom do not know that they have been categorized as haters, but I know better. They will try, subtly, to bring me down a notch, but most times they fail. I have issues with the world being in the fucked up state that it is in, and even that is merely just a fly to be shooed off my shoulder. Even horror movies don’t scare me much.

But my mind is something else, man.  Nothing in this world scares the living be-jesus outta me, more than my own mind does.  It seems to operate on a two-way system.  Either I’m all the way UP there.  Or I’m all the way DOWN there.  There is no in between.

So, here I am again, lying in bed, hyperventilating, in the throes of a panic attack, trying to find the point in it all. Dez, who is dodging work, is all in my face and snapping at me to get over myself. He has never understood my crazy moods in the whole fifteen years he has known me, so I am not even going to go there with the ‘you just don’t get it’ buzz now. Then he mentions something about getting up and feeding baby, and I bark unceremoniously, that it’s not hard to make a Weetbix, and does he need me to hold his hand while he does it? I fling a book at his head when he tells me that I’m a drama queen. He responds by slamming the door shut with an almighty bang.

And now I am sitting here, wallowing in the trenches of my own guilt.

Not a good start to a Monday. My gratitude routine has flown out the window for the day. I feel that old philosophy ‘fuck the world, and everyone in it’ trying to work its way into the deep recesses of my mind. Considering I have (over) committed to a shitload of things this week and beyond, this mind fuck is the last thing I need right now. Cancer fundraiser on Saturday to help pull off, but all I want to do is run off to a secluded beach and hide from civilization. A band to audition for as a drummer, something I’ve dreamed of doing most of my life, yet just thinking about the noise is giving me mass headache. I have work do’s, and birthdays and celebrations galore coming up, but I want to rip my 2015 calendar off the wall, and set it alight. Because I cannot fathom doing anything right now. I cannot fathom seeing anyone. I just cant do it.

I just need to be.

A good couple of hours later, there’s a little tapping on the door. I don’t answer, just stare at it blankly, too wrapped up in my own self-absorbed thoughts to even a muster a ‘what.’ The door opens a crack and I glimpse my girls puppy-looking eyes, peeking in at me forlornly. I wipe away my idiotic tears, and force myself to stretch my arms out to her, and she comes charging in, wrapping me in a hug with those chubby arms of hers. She places her palms on my cheeks, and peers closely into my face. “You alright, my mum?” And my heart bleeds. I feel like total and utter shit.  In the back of my mind is a voice saying ‘what did you ever do to deserve a highly-strung mother like me?’ and attempts to shut that voice up is failing miserably.

Still, I manage to nod and smile brightly, ‘You wanna go to the park my darling?’  She jumps up and down, then proceeds to sprint out of the room to tell daddy,  while I try, with all my might, heart and soul to get myself together.

I trudge out of the room. Staring at the ground and shuffling my feet, I manage to get out a gruff ‘sorry, mubs.’ Dez just nods, says ‘its allgood mubs,’ and that’s that.  He’s so accustomed to it, that it probably holds little relevance for him anymore.  And I totally understand. We pile into our Ford Boss and venture out, and the incident is forgotten. For me its still there, even as me and dad run a muck around the park with our daughter, looking for all the world like we is a happy family. But there’s always tomorrow. That’s what I keep telling myself. The mind fuck never lasts.  And there’s always tomorrow.


when its time to let go…


Whenever I think of me and Dez (which is waaaaaaay too often) I am mostly always reminded of that song that Paula Abdul sang back in her heyday when she was at her peak, and more well known for her singing and dancing than she was for her incoherent ramblings as Simon Cowell’s side kick on American Idol. The song was animated, included a dancing fox, and highlighted the differences between men and women. Opposites Attract. Yeah that song. That’s me and Darks. That’s eighty percent of relationships, when I think about it.  And Paula, though I thought she made as much sense on American Idol as my mother in law when she’s had too many tui’s, she knew what she was on about when she sang that song. I’ll give her that.

Opposites Attract. How it all begins, and how it began for us. Me and Dez. Chalk and cheese. Night and Day. He the logical, me the emotional. He the popular, me the loner. He the responsible and open, me the reckless and secretive. He all cold and detached on the inside, and me forever burning with emotions that, right up until this day, he has never been able to fully comprehend. I’m quite gobsmacked, actually, that some thirteen plus years have mosied on by and I’m basically in the same boat I’ve been in since I thought ‘fuck it’ and took Dez by the hand and let him lead me into lovey dovey land, somewhere I vowed never, ever to go without giving it almighty thought. Because, even as naïve as I was at the time when it came to ‘relationships’ and all that it entailed, it was by keenly observing the men around me – my brothers, my uncles, even my own father, that I was able to learn, from a very early age, just what men were all about.   That they were a difficult kind indeed. And that they were the only ones that could drive a woman to lose the essence of what, who and all that she was.

It took five outta fourteen years for me to fall in love with Dez. But when I fell, I fell from the heavens and hit the ground hard! Letting him go is turning out to be a fucking mission impossible!!! But one I am dedicated to seeing through, even if it near kills me.

In a way, I think Dez is going to be very relieved when he realizes that I am summoning up every ounce of courage I can muster to finally let him live his life the way he wants to. Even though this isn’t exactly out of the blue, as we’ve been talking about it for a year, I still sense that he’s going to be hurt. But I also sense that hes going to be ok. As for me…well, there are times when I feel I’ll be just fine. Then there are times like now, where I feel lost and uncertan and harbour this gigantic fear of being without the one person I could always rely on to be there for me when life got dicey. Hes been pretty much the only constant thing in my life, and the only semblance of stability I have, even if I do spend countless of hours each day trying to understand where hes coming from, where I’m coming from, and wondering how the hell we’re supposed to find the middle ground amongst it all.

I have nothing more to give to us, and I know it. He has nothing more to give to us, and he knows it. We both know that the end is nigh, and I cant keep fighting that, or denying the obvious, nor can I make this relationship into something that it is not. And I can’t hush that inner voice anymore, the one that has always blasted me with that truth over the years despite my stubborn refusal to hear it. Even if I did cover my ears and refuse to listen to it then, I’m listening to it now. And its slowly but surely beginning to sink right in.

Its never easy to let go of something that means so much to you. I’ve been clinging onto Dez like hes my life raft – my anchor – the only one that can keep me from drowning. The people I consider close to me – my friends and my family – they only know me to a certain extent. They know only what I choose to let them see. Darks – he knows all of me. He knows me in all my uncensored glory. He can see what lies beneath the many different layers, and can read through the many veils of pretense that I can drape over myself on any given day. Pretty ironic, how I let the walls come down for him, and pretty much gave him the key to my heart and everything that lay within. And hes the only one I’ve ever really let in, truly and completely. Yet he still doesn’t seem to understand me. But I understand him. I understand his needs and his wants, and feel like I’ve supported him accordingly. And with each day that goes by, I’m coming to understand about him the most important aspect of all. That he is never going to change. And neither am I.

I think a big part of why I’m scared to let him go has more to do with me than him. Actually, when I think about it, its probably the utmost reason. I have a hard time accepting the real me sometimes. At times, I confuse even myself. I have days where I question and doubt myself so much that it drives me crazy. And because I spend so much time on that wavelength, I naturally presume that others are thinking along the same lines. But I’m learning to get over it. As for Deez, he may have never understood me. Nevertheless, I always felt like he accepted me – exactly as I was. I guess it’s a fear of never experiencing that acceptance again. But I’m working on learning to accept myself, which, I think, is going to be the hardest – yet most profound lesson of all.

The heart is in a fucking blender right now, no shit. It aches yet now knows that what I want can never be. But…I’m determined to get through it, because you know ‘getting through it’ is something I’m good at doing, so I take a bit of comfort in that. I think I’ll always love this guy. And if I could write a list about the things I’ve learnt from him, that list would be a page long. Being with him has not only been an honour and a privilege, but it has also been the greatest learning experience of my life. Though we are currently under the same roof, the gap between us is already beginning to widen, so its now only a matter of time. Despite the heaviness in my heart, and despite the turmoil going on inside my head, I know I have to fade out of his life somehow, and see it through to its inevitable conclusion. He will be ok. And, I think, so will I.

biggie girl problems…

At the young tender age of four, my girl had her first taste of bullying. Fortunately for her, that is an age where, thank God, she is still innocent to a five-year olds cruel jibes and taunts and has no idea what ‘fatty watty’ even means. Unfortunately for the girl’s mother, it just so happened to be MY daughter on the receiving end and, after ten minutes of listening to this little brat chanting ‘fatty watty,’ poking at my girls protruding gut, as well as waving and pointing a toy gun in her face, I snapped as politely as one person could possibly be expected to snap if witnessing their kid getting pushed around in a not-so-nice way.

“Hey, hey. Don’t you bloody do that? How would you like it if I poked you in the stomach and shoved a gun in your face you wouldn’t like that would you?”

The brat had the cheek to look crestfallen. I thought I had used a really nice tone, even if there was an underlying threat in there. I look at my baby who is giggling at the brat and also chanting ‘fatty watty, fatty watty’ in a sing-song way. Then out of the corner of my eye, I glance at the mum who is peering at both girls with what I can see is a tight smile on her face. I know I’ve offended her. My baby pranced back inside to her daddy while the brat sits in the corner, staring at me as if I am the wicked witch of the north.

Meanwhile, I attempt to brush away the awkwardness that has all of a sudden permeated the air by picking up where we left off from our conversation, but I know I’ve blown it. I’m aware that the woman sitting across from me, whom I have only known all of three weeks, is not happy that I’ve just told her daughter off. Not happy at all.

Honest to who. I mean, what would you have done?

This was three months ago. I haven’t seen the mother since, and I’m not really surprised. I guess it can now be stated as fact that my tendency to blurt out things that I should maybe not say, or at least learn to re-phrase, is one of the many reasons why I find it hard to keep friends. I still say I wasn’t that harsh though. Or at least I don’t think I sounded as harsh as I felt. Additionally, it can also be stated that, lately, the FACT that I lose friends at a rapid rate when I do this hasn’t been bugging me as much as it used to. Which, I think, is a good thing

Anyway…moving on. Of course, when I say ‘brat’ I don’t mean that in a nasty, evil-ish kind of way, even though it sounds like it. I love kids. Let me just point that out. But there were two reasons why I told this girl off aside from the obvious fact that she was just being downright mean. One – no parent likes to watch their kids get picked on. If the shoe was on the other foot, I’m positive that mother would have done the same thing. Furthermore, if my daughter was teasing another kid in front of me, I would have told her off myself, as respect for others is something I hope to teach her, and teach her well. The other reason why this brats antics got up my ally is…well, a bit more personal…to be completely honest with you.

I’ve been a victim of bullying. Being overweight and tipping the scales at ninety something kg’s at the age of twelve, as well as wearing hearing aids, AS WELL as being fitted with braces in Intermediate through to third form, made me a juicy target for schoolyard bullies. When I put it in perspective, I guess watching my girl getting prodded and teased brought back memories. And feelings. And painful ones at that.

My girl – she has always been on the chubby side. She was the type of baby that strangers on the street ooh-ed and ahh-ed over because her multiple layers of rolls and balloon cheeks were impossible to resist. Fast forward to a few years later, and she’s still getting the oohs and ahhs as well as the occasional side-looks that clearly say “oh my god, what does her mother feed her??” Her fifth birthday is in December, two days before Christmas, yet she constantly gets mistaken for a six-plus year old. Despite the fact that she’s still a toddler, I find myself shopping more in the Girls area in shopping stores, but if you ask my honest opinion, I think Australian clothes sizes are inaccurate anyway. Shopping here reminds me of when I would walk my size twelve self into an Asian clothes store in New Zealand and feel like a giant because even just a fourteen was a tight squeeze. Plus Australian kids are too skinny anyway. But maybe I’m just making excuses.

It used to be cute, watching my baby get attention from strangers due to her overflowing chubbiness. What’s not so cute is listening to her breathing at night. Or watching her run (or attempt to run) after kids her own age. Previously, it made me giggle when watching her get her waddle on, but these days it’s about as funny as cancer. If there’s one thing I realised after witnessing my baby getting taunted, it’s that I don’t want her to go through what I did. Ever.

It’s possible I am blowing this up into intergalactic proportions and over-reacting (what else is new?) It’s been, what, some fifteen years since my school days? Yet this experience just brought it all back like it happened yesterday. It’s not the bullying itself that sticks out like a green bush in a brown hay-field. It’s the way it makes you feel for, like, yeeeeeears afterwards. Worthless. Hopeless. Not good enough. Not pretty enough. Never going to amount to anything…and the list goes on. As you get older, you don’t realise that bullying is a major contributor to self-doubt – the same self-doubt that has followed you throughout your life like a faithful lap dog. Sure, I put on a show of being untouchable. Sure I chose to rise above it and keep on keeping on, because that’s what the experience taught me to do. But the pain, the anger and the resentment was always there, throbbing away underneath it all. It took fifteen long arse years for the rawness of that wound to heal, but at least it got better. At least I overcame it. Some people never do.

In a way, I’m grateful to my bullies from days gone past. Not just at school, but within my home life as well. The lesson I learnt here is this – that it’s the bad experiences that shape you into either two moulds. One, a bitter person. Or two, a better person, and I believe that this is what I am no matter what any tom, dick or harry may think. So I may not be on this brat’s mother’s favourite people’s list anymore? She’s hardly the first one I’ve pissed off because I’ve my tendency to be blunt. I’m probably on a lot of lists of ‘Most Unfavourite People’ and right at the top too. On the other hand, maybe I do need to learn to zip my mouth in the heat of the moment. But the important thing is I know I mean well, even if that is hardly ever obvious. I know my heart is in the right place. I know my intentions are pure. And I like to think that’s all that matters?

I’m proud of the head-strong and determined woman that I am today. Some things I never learn. Other things I’m still trying. But this lesson I learnt very well – that even though life can be utterly beautiful, it can also be a downright bitch. And it’s the bitch times that make you stronger. Still, despite all this, the whole point is I would not wish any of what I’ve been through on anyone, least of all my daughter. I’m probably being overly serious and possibly paranoid about something as trivial as some little girl poking my babies gut with a toy gun, trying to ‘pop her.’ But I can’t help it. Like most parents, I want my girl to lead a sweet charmed life, but that’s just not the way the world works. Times like this I just want to wrap her, tight and snug, in a cocoon and keep her out of harm’s way for all eternity.

But I know I can’t do that. I may not be able to protect my girl forever. And I may be looking a bit too far into the future here. But if there is one thing I hope to install in my daughter, it would be to have supreme and utmost confidence in herself so she can stand tall and proud in a world that isn’t always so kind. And isn’t that what we all want for our children???

Correct me if I’m wrong on that one.

In the meantime though, I think a lifestyle overhaul is in order for her. Because, after all this banging on, the truth is…yes, she is a fair bit overweight. So the brat had a point. Too much noodles and not enough physical activity. If I could chuck her on Herbalife I would, but I think I’ll chuck her on some kind of physical regime instead. I’m getting onto her health now. Honestly, its hightime I did something about it anyway.