I’ve been awake since like 430am, with this irritation in my gutt … not the physical kind, but the ‘wairua’ kind, so just trying to roll with it and not irritate myself even more ;)
Been thinking bout this post … and old friends … fuck ups … parenting … but i’ll address the latter somewhere else another time and just stick to this shit for now ay … not like it’s not enough!
So this was First Published on: Jun 6, 2015 @ 20:03.
As I read through it I can feel and see my ‘dissociative’ self (gangstah woman that she is ;) ) doing the ‘facts’ … the bullet points … and I tell yah what, that shit has got Me through hell’ah tough times … not always to my benefit, but I live to tell the tale.
Seven wasn’t a shitfest I guess .. but I’ve come to learn, theres no right way to do a shitfest … you just roll through it and hope not too much sticks to yah. Unfortunately a lot of this shit did stick and I am still washing it off … The adults around me (i get this Now), did the best with what they knew and what they had, at the time.
I mean really, is their a right way to explain death let alone suicide to a child? And is there a right way to meet the father of your dreams only to find out his a douche?
Love and Light xo
I don’t know what seven is like. Small? From my view point now, yup.
But, I do remember stuff.
The good uncle topped himself. There was lots and lots of crying. I could feel the tension….I remember it very clearly.
He hadn’t come home. They couldn’t find him. He had been at the pub.
‘if only’….heard it a lot.
But he didn’t come home. They found him…
….by the train tracks….down the side….the train had stopped….it stopped cos it hit something….
I remember the funeral. We viewed him before the service started.
He looked asleep.
From where I stood – he looked quiet…too quiet…and very very still. He wasn’t usually that still. Or that quiet.
And he was clean. Clothes that I hadn’t ever seen him in. He had a big plaster looking thing on his face.
I wondered if we were going to wake him. I thought …. we will with all this crying. And it’s such a strange place for him to go to sleep.
I didn’t really understand. Not death. Not the tears.
But I felt their sadness…their heaviness.
And he never woke up. And he never came home.
And I missed him. And I still do.
And when I get to see him again, the second thing I’m going to do to him after I’ve given him a huuuu-mungeous hug….is slap him! How dare he be so sad that he take away his life from us….from me. How dare he.
I still love him though.
So being seven kind of sucked….
but I also remember moving to a really big ass house, with other people in it…some of them were freaks! There was a little girl there…I couldn’t stand her…tormenting bitch.
But I remember her mother…who was a drug fucked freak…rehabilitated supposedly….enjoying a new life with the church…amen ….well she took me somewhere with her kid (the annoying bitch), in their little car…and we ended up over the side of a cliff…I remember blood on my leg and feeling really tired…and I remember my little gumboots….and walking up the hill…and to a strangers house…where ‘Planet of the Apes’ was on TV. I don’t remember getting home. But I must have.
I remember wanting to meet my father at seven. And I got too. He showed up with his wife and my sister. I thought he would love me and love me even more because he had missed me.
Turns out he was a drunk. And still a wife beater.
The holiday was ratshit.
I learnt about looking after myself some more. But this time I had a younger sister to take care of. We were alone a lot of the time. And when they were home…they were fighting…and then he’d leave…and i’d wait wait wait till he got home. The only reason I knew it was late, was because all the programs that I was never allowed to watch, were on. He was always drunk. And when he wasn’t drunk, we were waiting for him to get out of the pub, or waiting for him to finish golf. = wonder if this is why I absolutely hate waiting! And hate golf! lol
And when I got back from that ‘holiday’…our house had burnt down and I lost all my things.
I remember my ears aching a lot. I remember crying. I remember not sleeping.
So seven…abit shit I suppose.
I’m beginning to think…
“no wonder your a little fucked up” – hhhmmmmm genius lol
But, I remember my Grandfather too….he loved me…I loved him.
[[As a side thing….’Seven’, is my favourite movie ;)]]