My Boys. Part I.

My Boys. Part I.

I haven’t spoken much about my babies. So I’m going to tell you about them. Individually.
Beginning with my middle child’s story. Start to now…. in brief of course.

And I don’t want you to get me wrong. All this happened ten years into us. We’d had an amazing, fanciful relationship. Which I’ll talk more about later. But all relationships have one rocky moment. And in twenty years this was our big hurdle.

This boy was conceived when his father and I were in absolute crisis mode.
We had been through so much, and everything was falling apart. I was losing him, and he was losing himself into a world of depression and devastation which (in hindsight) was because of him retiring from competitive sports, and not wanting to admit that Peter Pan was indeed growing up.
We had split up. I had moved out, it had gotten that bad in a very short time.
But there was still a connection, borne of a 10 year adoring love, that even though I was at the limits of what I could cope with at the time, I couldn’t completely let go.
So we would still talk. And I was still trying to get him to see what was going on and how he could keep himself not only alive, but keep his head above water.
But it got hard. So hard.
And I met someone a long way away who made me feel completely free and alive.
So I threw in the towel. As much as I hated to admit it and not only to me but to him, I knew that I had to leave to cut the tie we had.
He took me to the airport. He offered, because I had no ride.
And as much as I was out of ‘our’ relationship, I was still cut so deeply about us being over, that I made the mistake of allowing us one last moment.
I think we both assumed I wouldn’t be back.
This was goodbye.

And for most people that would have been.
Except, as usual with my luck, it wasn’t.
And I’m going to gloss over the whole ‘moving away’ part for now – we will revisit that later of course, because that’s one hell of a story!
But for now, we are going to fast forward to the part where I come home, with my tail between my legs.
Originally, I came back because I had to.
I had a few last loose ends to tidy up, and to sort out my Visa.
I’d bought a return ticket, from there, to home, and back.

And when I got home and found the absolute hot mess I’d left behind, with a trail of destruction and self-abuse he’d undergone, I was shocked as hell.
I was glad at that moment, that I’d a ticket out of there as I couldn’t see at all how me staying to watch him implode would be a good thing.
But there was one small problem.
I was pregnant.
And when I confirmed it here, I went for bloods and a scan, and then I sat alone and worked out the date of conception.
And I cried.
For several days.

You see, in what suddenly felt like another lifetime, I had a beautiful man, who would have given me the world.
And now I was hit with the earth shattering realisation, that I was pregnant. And this baby wasn’t his.
Not. A. Chance.

So I was sitting in a cold waiting room alone, feeling my world implode as I thought about the man this babies father had been. The man he was now. And the mess I was in.
And I wondered whether there was any possibility that this was deliberate.
An act of fate that was telling me that he needed one more chance to wake up and see what he was throwing away.
Against my better judgement, I decided to have a last day out with my bestie. And I told her first. We were supposed to be drinking, and she knew immediately when I didn’t that something was up. She guessed as I started to tell her, and she held me while I cried.
We were at a big outdoor event, and he was there with his friends, I with my girls.
I was (stupid I know) keeping half an eye on him, as a few things he had said to me in the days before had worried me. He was supposed to be working that evening. And I knew he had promised to stop drinking at 12. So he would be sober by 6.
Yet I saw him consume epic amounts of alcohol with no signs of slowing down at all, even when I quietly mentioned was he still working tonight…. I was told off and yelled at.
And he didn’t stop.
In fact, he got so intoxicated, that come closing time he was ditched by his boys as he was too messy. They left him there.
And from a distance I watched as everyone was herded towards the gates. My bestie and I stuck a way back and just made sure he got to the gate. And so I wasn’t far away when he had a full blown drunken panic attack. Somehow he thought the exit gate was an entry and he was convinced he wasn’t going to be allowed through. I remember taking him by the hand and talking him down, calming him. Telling him it was okay, that was the exit and everyone was leaving now, it was home time. That I would help him through the gate and we would get out of there okay. And he let me lead him out.
He was such a mess, he had no idea who I was, or my bestie. And he to this day doesn’t remember the walk to my car. The drive home. Or in fact getting him home and putting him to bed. He also only remembers the mess he made of the bathroom because I left him to clean it up himself……
I sat there while he passed out. Checking on him every hour and watching tv.
His workmate came in because he hadn’t been answering his phone and we sat and talked for a few hours, about the state he was in. How he had been declining and how he was destroying himself and everything around him with his self-deprecation and alcohol abuse.
He was sadly unsurprised that he had to keep working and do his shift that night.
As soon as he was coherent enough to drink water and knew who I was, I left.

The next morning he came to find me.
Sheepish and apologetic. Embarrassed I saw him like that. And mortified when I told him how the day had gone from an outside perspective.
I told him he was going to be a father.
And if he wanted to have anything to do with this baby, or me, ever again. That he needed to take a few days, and he was to decide if he was going to grow up and be the man I knew he could be, or if he wanted to keep playing like an 18 year old drunkard, and never see either of us again. As I wasn’t going to stick around to watch it.
I was out of here. I told him he had a few days, and that he needed to go now.
I didn’t want to look at him today.

He spent a day thinking about what he wanted to do. I have no idea where he went or what he did, but he came back that night and he told me that he wanted to be in both of our lives and that if giving up alcohol was what he had to do to keep us here, then that is what he would do.
I can’t explain how I felt, because I was torn completely in two.
Torn between two lives, and two people. With this tiny human in the mix.
And it took me weeks to even admit to myself what I had to do.
Which was stay.

I sold my business. I cashed in my return ticket.
I made my bed, and now I had to lie in it.

Every week that passed, still hurt. But the pregnancy was easy. I was so fit beforehand that I was strong. I worked until 8 months and then had to stop.
I had a few complications, Polyhydramnios. This baby was a big boy. I was all belly.

I was high risk. Because of risk of loss and the complications of pregnancy and I went into labour on my due date. July 4th. However with my local hospitals policy of intervention only if necessary, I endured three weeks of hell at the end of a smooth and way too easy pregnancy. I’d been active and social and so happy. I went into labour at a party. Because we partied pregnant. We were at a house party as usual for the weekends and I realised that these braxton hicks were oddly rhythmic. Almost synchronised. And I started timing them at 7 minutes. So long and low. Only 20 or so seconds each. But enough for me to give the boy a heads up that this child would be earth side soon. And my daughter was born on her due date so I had no idea this kid would drag things out so. He kept checking on me and we stayed our evening as I kept telling him I’d warn him if things changed but it was slow for now. We went home and I got little sleep as they were annoying enough I couldn’t get comfy.

In the end, we had three hospital admissions, scans and internals. Nights where they would give me pethidine so my body could rest from the contractions and I could sleep monitored. So baby was safe. But he still wasn’t coming.

So they eventually gave in and scheduled a c section for exactly 43w. And I was part relieved and part devastated. So for the last few days I mourned the water birth I’d wanted and prepped myself as best as one can. I had also been warned that should my waters break with a gush I needed to immediately drop to the floor and put my head down, keeping my bum up. Because if my waters broke accidentally now, my baby was at risk of a cord prolapse or the cord tangling round his neck as his cord was very long. Which I’ll admit panicked me. But I had only days to go and after all the false starts I figured he wasnt going come alone.

As in the weeks prior I’d had my cousins visit. No baby.

I’d panicked at one point with 5 minutely contractions at a minute long and called my sister to drive 8 hours to be with me for the birth. Oops no baby.

She stayed a week and gave up and said she was going home. And she had gotten only a few hours away when I called her back and said I’d had a show so come back. My cranky father had turned the car around and brought her back. After ten more days she gave up and went boarding…..

And then the unthinkable happened. I woke up about 7am. I needed to pee, as usual. But when I got up I felt a little gush of fluid and I stopped dead still. My tummy was tightening. And then another little gush. And the ‘just in case’ liner I had in was suddenly very very damp. I thought oh no…. my section was the next day. He couldn’t come yet! I went into panic mode. Called the midwife and awoke him as I knew we needed to move fast while I was only leaking. If my waters fully broke I’d need an ambulance and I’d have only minutes to get the baby out safely. So we did the gauntlet through morning traffic. Luckily it’s a 3 minute drive. And I called my sister back from her snow trip. She was four hours away and she made it in three.

It seemed the little monkey had thankfully for me, broken my hind waters. So the hospital were relieved. But nervous. I was able to soak in the spa bath and walk. Bounce on the Swiss ball. Whatever I wanted. As long as I didn’t go to far as I wasn’t really dilating. Which becomes a recurrent theme for me. All day I laboured and at 7pm they decided to do s controlled break as he still hadn’t broken my membranes fully. In fact I’d even stopped leaking…. so they broke them. And it was pretty epic. I couldn’t see but my sister and he could. He was dumbfounded and she was a part horrified and part impressed. I got a blow by blow as for me, it ramped things up in the most horrendous way.

I hit transition with the first gush and while they mopped up as they slowly released the fluid, they filled an entire laundry bag of towels and I was in pain. I had rolling waves of contractions back to back and I could barely breathe. Focusing was difficult and it was incredibly intense. I remember being snappy and struggling to speak… and I asked if I could push because I couldn’t hold it anymore and the midwife said of course. To let my body tell me what to do. She thought I was dilated so I started to let myself push. But nothing was happening and it took a while before they realised how hard I was working and how he wasn’t moving. So she asked if she could do an internal after we had tried a multitude of positions and none helped. Which was when she realised I’d pushed too early. I wasn’t 10cm and I’d pushed his head down and it was stuck on my cervix. She begged me to stop pushing. They all did. But there was no way I could and I remember growling at her because I couldn’t stop!!! I had no idea how to. And at that point I was on my knees, my bed in a chair position. I was holding the back of the bed and kneeling on it with my feet hanging off. They asked me to lay down so they could move my bed to a theatre room….. and I growled again and I remember yelling no at them. I couldn’t move! Next thing we were on the move with me kneeling on the bed hanging on for dear life as we whizzed past all the rooms and I felt so cold and I was in so much pain……

The new room was warm. And it turned out they had an anaesthetist waiting for me and it took nitrous to get me to sit on the bed I was in so much pain. I was nauseous and starving and starting to freak out as it was now nearing midnight. My baby was stuck…. so I used the nos and held onto him for dear life as they put in an epidural. Which they had tried to tell me was to stop my labour. They needed me to stop pushing. It was a tiny bit funny when all of a sudden he let me go and my sister was suddenly holding me…. while the epidural was going in. As I was breathing out so much nos, that he nearly passed out as he is tall and his head was above mine. He was breathing it in as I was breathing it out and luckily the nurse noticed as she had a chair under him and my sister lined up to take his place before he hit the floor!!! I had to giggle when the pain subsided and I was able to suddenly feel lucid again. And not overwhelmed by contractions.

Finally somewhat sane again I was allowed a hot chocolate while they explained they had to do the epi to stop the contractions and stop me pushing as he was too stuck. But hopefully in and hour or so, those intense contractions would work for me and dilate me properly. I got a breather and to rest.

A few hours later I could feel the contractions more and I commented on them. And suddenly it was all on again. A new midwife now was here. Shifts had changed. And she was commanding and tall. Anne. She looked like a farmers wife. German and quite a presence.

I was instructed to push and I was on my back now as I was too numb for anything else. But I pushed. And I thought I was doing great until she commanded me to stop. Then I got a wave of terror when I heard her tell he and my sister they needed to step back right now and I heard her press the emergency button three times.

My soul dropped. I know what that means and I know that means nothing good. An sos for medical professionals. And as expected all hell broke loose at that point as he was ashen faced and pushed aside. My sister with him as the room was inundated. Paediatric Dr’s and nurses. Midwifes. Obstetricians. So many people.

Then without warning there were suddenly so many people around me and none I knew or recognised. My bed was flipped nearly upside down. And I was told to get ready to push like my babies life depended on it on the count of three. She told me he was stuck and we had to get him out now…. and I told her to please don’t hurt my baby… hurt me. I felt the tears come as I pushed on command and stopped when she yelled at me to stop. Then the two men either side of me apologised to me as suddenly I saw a part of my legs I hadn’t seen in a year… while they separated my pelvis and dislocated my hips…. and she yelled push now and do not stop until I tell you to…. and I pushed with all my might and she pulled with all of hers and I felt him move….. I knew she had him but I had no idea if he was ok.

I saw her ask for him to come and cut the cord. And the room was dead silent and I felt hot tears running down my face. I heard he command him….he needed to take the baby to the paeds right now. And I was panicking. So much that I can’t even remember delivering the placenta. I just remember going into shock…. my whole body was shaking and my tears felt icy. I was so cold and the room was spinning. And then there was a sudden warmth as I was covered with warm blankets and hot towels. He was holding me and trying to warm me and I can still hear him telling me “it’s going to be okay…. you did good bub….” he was kissing my forehead and I didn’t care. I just needed to know if my baby was okay. And I had no words. And no way of asking. I was getting more panicked when I heard the tiniest noise. He looked over and I looked up at him as I could only look up from where I was and I could see relief on his face.

It was then the midwife was suddenly sitting my bed up and telling me I’d done a good job. And she asked me if I wanted to meet my son.

I finally got to hold him then. He was born at 4.45am and it was now 6am. For over an hour I clung desperately to the hope he was alive and now he was finally in my arms. And I felt like I could breathe again. For the first time since he was pulled from me, breathing stopped hurting. And he latched like a champ! Fed his way through a room change and all!

We got back to our room and while I showered, he and my sister dressed the baby. He got to be the first one to put a diaper on. And put clothes on his son. He was so incredibly proud of him he would barely part with him until he finally had to go. He’d been up all night and I wasn’t allowed to leave yet as this baby had a low temp so we needed to be monitored till it came up. So he and I snuggled and did skin to skin in bed and fed on and off. And I sent his Daddy home to sleep and go to work for a couple of hours until we could go home.

They let us go at 6pm and we got to go home. A family.

We stopped off to introduce the baby to his Dad and his partner. Who were every bit the spring grandparents right from day 1. That tiny dot of a boy wrapped them around his little finger at the first cuddle and he was less than 12 hours old!

We loved being home though. Even if I had to fight my sister and him to cuddle the baby. It was so lovely how adored he was. He was so sweet and snuggly. He loved cuddles and boobing. And I couldn’t get enough of watching this giant man, so utterly infatuated with this tiny baby. He was just smitten.

He was a true 50-50 parent.

For someone who never wanted kids, it was incredible how he took to fatherhood. He was the first to offer, or just do a nappy. Dirty or wet. Clothes on and off. Laundry for the baby. Bath time. Nap time. He did it all. And in the early days he was so desperate to help where he could. Even to the point of night feeds….. I will never forget waking one night, boobs hurting. The baby was 4 weeks old so my milk was still out of control. I woke and panicked as I couldn’t hear the baby. I sat bolt upright and turned on the lamp. And the room was empty. So I hurtled our the door thinking something was terribly wrong…. to find that he was in the lounge, cradling his tiny son in his arms and singing to him. While feeding him a bottle of reheated frozen expressed milk.

“Because you were exhausted bub. I thought you needed to sleep. I got this, look he’s almost asleep again”

He had woken when he woke. Changed him. Fed him. And he put him back to sleep.

He did that every second night. And it was the most precious gift to me. Seeing him be the man I saw in him through all the bad stuff. Through all the shitty behaviour. I had somehow given him the thing he needed to get himself into a better place. To man up and find his happy again.

I gave him a family.

And while the event was traumatic for both of us, we talk about it a lot, we both feel so blessed that this precious boy gave us both a new lease on life and a new perspective on ourselves and who we wanted and needed to be. He gave us life. Unconditional love. And he showed us how much we love each other.

Our special little soldier.

Beauty in the little things.

Beauty in the little things.

*cue soppy post*
Happy Anniversary to Mr Longterm and I.
This one was a big numbered one, even though we didn’t celebrate. Not really. I guess you could say that the celebration was lowkey….. Actually it was a day in the office together, because it was ‘office day’ and then me taking on the job of sorting out the things he mucked up. Because this week has been intensely busy. And when you are constantly rushing, things go wrong sometimes.
But that’s just par for the course isn’t it? Really, he’s so lucky he has me…
And I’m so lucky we have work to keep my mind busy.

But seriously.
We live together.
We work together.
We parent together.
And I can’t think of anyone I would rather have by my side, or waiting for me when I come home…
I’m always grateful for the constant support through my crazy schemes…. strange hobbies…. my adventures and wanderings.
In the same way I’ve stood beside him through everything from pro tours to pro disasters.
And when he needs it done, he knows I’ll do it. I might complain a lot, but he can always trust the job will be done right. And that’s cool.

We share so many interests…. Yet we both have our own hobbies we do apart.
We share some of those hobbies though.
It’s a beautiful balance. And I love that we can! We live hard and love hard.
BMX & Skating. Snowboarding. Wakeboarding. Motocross. MTB.
We are both complete adrenalin junkies. And while he might be better on a bike than me, he knows I’ll give anything a go. All challenges accepted.

We have created two amazing little humans along this journey who are the perfect mix of us both. Fascinating seeing them reflect the different facets of us both, intertwined into two very cool little people.
Because of us, I look forward to the future.
When we get to grow old together and watch them become men.
And hopefully we get to help them raise our grandchildren one day and celebrate many more anniversaries.

I love him with all my heart. And I’m grateful to him for every day we share. Even when he pushes every last button I have.
I love that he hates sleeping if he is not touching me.
And I love him even though he hates texting me back.

Only the strong survive. And together, we are strongest.

20 down. At least another 40 to come I’d say….. if not more!

Breathing.

Breathing.

So, the past few days have been hazier than usual.
Unintentionally so.
But the bombshell of hearing about him….. really threw me for a loop.

It’s intensely difficult to achieve sleep, when your entire moral compass is in complete meltdown.
Because hearing he had surgery to amputate a limb to try to save him from the sepsis that’s slowly killing him, alongside a laundry list of other ailments…
It just feels so innately wrong to be feeling a sense of elation and relief when you know someone else is in incredible pain. And not just him, but his family – who did nothing wrong. They cannot be blamed for him – sins of the father and all that.
Half of me is on a high. And the other half feels insanely guilty.
I’m going to hell for wanting to laugh and jump for joy.

But I already know, that I am never going to have to worry about bumping into him on the street.
Never again will he somehow manage to be on my doorstep.
Never again will I fear the suburb where he lived.
Never again will I fear him.
Because in the state he is in, he cannot ever hurt or scare me again.

And that makes me feel……Relieved. Happy. Wickedly happy.
Am I a bad person for feeling like this?
I sincerely hope, that when it comes to some kind of judgement day that this truckload of intense feelings of happiness based on someone else’s misery, are overlooked for the reason it makes me so happy.
Because I know I’m justifying here, but what he did was so inhuman… soul destroying. And has impacted my entire life.
And for that, I feel like I’m allowed to have a moment of relief for him suffering the way I have my whole life.
Only it’s the end of his, and it couldn’t have come sooner.

Sleep eludes me.

Sleep eludes me.

As usual for me, I’m laying here and on my phone. Because I can’t put it down. And because there’s no point putting it down.

It’s not like I’m going to fall asleep….. not yet. Not until the meds kick in and my brain goes numb yet again.

That sounds terrible doesn’t it. I’m somewhat dependent on medicine to make me sleep. And I say somewhat because as afraid as I am of not sleeping, I’m also afraid of addiction. So I will promise you that I’m very careful. I have a mixture of sleep aids and I mix them up. I go 2-3 nights with nothing. And those nights I barely sleep the first two but the third I fall asleep fast – because I’m exhausted. Beyond exhausted. Then a couple of nights I’ll take half an antihistamine. And one night I’ll take half a sleeping tablet. Other nights I’ll end up with a migraine from the stress of trying to sleep and not getting enough sleep so those nights I fight the pain till I’m not able to bear it any longer and I cave in and sleep when the pain meds give me relief from the pain. Some nights I try herbal sleep aids. And sometimes they work and sometimes they don’t… you never quite know. Some nights I resort to anti-anxiety meds. But I’m so worried about any one of them not working, that I’m too scared to take any of them regularly. Or more than half at a time – except when I took a whole Ativan before my eye surgery. Because the fear of remembering that overcame the fear of the pills not working….. Lesser of two evils really was that one.

I’ve tried so many things. Magnesium powder. Iron supplements. A super dark room. No technology after 7pm (do you even know how hard that was???). Regular waking times. Lots of sunshine during the day. Tart cherry juice. Melatonin. Good multivitamins. Probiotics. Meditation. Sleep inducing sounds.

You name it, I’ve tried it.

And it’s ridiculous. Because I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t do drugs. Not the illegal kind. And I finally have the ability to sleep (child related story for another time) yet it eludes me.

Some nights I feel like it’s almost in my reach…. and then another daft thought hits and I wish I could stop them. I wish I knew how.

You see I think about absolutely ridiculous things so far out of my control…. yet they control me.

Like earthquakes. I’m terrified of them. I’m so certain my home will be destroyed, my babies and partner killed. Me hurt. And some nights it’s so bad that I make my kids sleep in my room using the excuse that I just love them and want them close. But they have no idea it’s that I’m terrified of not being able to get to them fast enough if another big quake hits. And that ones been so much worse since the quake that damaged much of our city. I can’t blame that entirely but it does seem like it triggered me somewhat.

Another one is fire. For no reason whatsoever I go through nights convinced our home will burn to the ground and we will all die. Or worse, I won’t be able to save one of my children. It’s so bad that I turn off almost all multi boxes in my house every night. In fact during the day as I use things I turn the multi box on to use them then turn them right off again. Ironically even as I’ve typed this I had to run upstairs to check on my child and check I turned off a Scentsy Warmer. And there was no way I could not check. It would have played in my mind till I went up.

I worry about my partners work and him being hurt on the job.

I worry about my kids at school and what if the youngest chokes on a grape. Or the oldest gets bullied and commit suicide. Even though I know both are ridiculous. Grapes must be halved at kindy and my son is more likely to be captured by aliens than be bullied at his amazing school.

I know all the things I worry about are so stupid. And I try to tell myself this every day.

No the plane I’m on won’t crash.

Yes my kids dad can keep them alive while I’m away working for 27 hours because that’s the most I can stand to be away from them for even though getting the early flight home cost me eleventy billion dollars and I officially made no money on that work trip.

My gas hot water cylinder isn’t going to spontaneously combust and blow me up. Because that’s just weird. I mean really. Who has even heard of that happening in real life????? Hmm actually don’t answer that one….

The air conditioning unit isn’t going to cause a roof fire and burn us to the ground. Because it just won’t alright? Got it?

That little wobble wasn’t a precursor to a soul destroying earthquake you are just sitting in a rocking chair you twit.

That noise wasn’t a demon attacking your house it was just next doors cat jumping off the roof and onto the carport roof on his way out roaming. The same as every other night at 10pm for the last 7 years.

No you don’t need a wine to calm your nerves because the phone rang. No one has died. Your partners been on call nights for years so you should be bloody well used to it by now.

And yes the smallest one is still breathing and if you keep poking the sleeping bear, it’s going to wake up thinking it’s had a nap now and then you really won’t get to sleep for the night because come 4am you will be far too busy losing your ever loving mind whilst trying to convince said child that; it really is night time, yes the sun is down, no your not lying, that everyone else on the planet is sleeping and so should they be, no they can’t bounce on the bed or play Xbox, the internet doesn’t work at night, it’s not breakfast time yet, no they can’t have some bubbles (soda) and then giving up and handing them an iPad if they will just shut up and stick their headphones on and let you sleep for five minutes before you have to get up and start the school run.

I am so guilty of that last one that it’s not even funny. Even if it is just a tiny bit amusing right now…. while he’s sound asleep.

Right now though? My eyes are heavy. And my child on the right is breathing noisily which makes me strangely relaxed. I know he’s alive. My partner on my left is snoring and I have a snoring child on the bed at the foot of mine.

Everyone present and accounted for. So now I can let myself drift away. Into a restless sleep where I’ll be up ten times and wake up at 7am wishing I could have five more hours sleep but if I try I’ll be wide awake by 8.30 and having to get out of bed.

So I bid you adieu.

And I offer thanks to my Dr for tonight’s sleep action.

Drowning willfully

Drowning willfully

Tonight was one of those nights that hit me like a lead balloon to the stomach. Out of nowhere. No warning. No heads up.

It was odd. Looking backwards it was almost like my body had a premonition that my brain was blindsided by. As after an afternoon meeting that really should have had me feeling slightly more relaxed, I came home and shut down a bit. I had an hour of godawful stomach cramps with no clue why. And then they were gone. As if they’d never been there.

So I did the normal things. Put children to bed after feeding them dinner. Sat down to browse FB…. as you do.

Boom.

I read a post by a family member. Talking about him. And as soon as I saw mention of him I quite literally froze. I felt instantly nauseous and at the same time, oddly compelled to keep reading. And it wasn’t good. He’s in hospital facing crippling surgery and life threatening illness. His body is shutting down.

And I feel like the most awful person in the world right now because my first thought was so horrible.

I actually thought ‘good’

Because he deserves to die horribly after what he did. Karma gets her man in the end. Every time.

And then the nausea hit me again because with my family members final words, asking for prayers for their family. I realised that they were hurting. Genuinely pained. And because they have no idea, and I will never tell them….. to them they are losing someone they love. Watching someone they love go to hell and back. And I’m tearing myself into shreds.

Because I feel like wishing him dead is wishing them pain. But then is the pain I feel daily, reason enough to wish pain on an entire family?

I’m struggling so much right now. Struggling to breathe and struggling to find my equilibrium in a world that feels like its suddenly been tilted on its axis and like every footstep leads to a place where I can’t find the air or the light.

Am I a horrible person for feeling like he deserves every second of pain?

I feel like I am and the guilt over my emotions right now is so heavy.

I feel like right now I want to walk into the ocean and let the water cover my head and I just want to float into the darkness and never come back.

I can’t figure out how to feel or how to feel without it hurting so much. And when I thought getting some of this out of my brain was helping me…. suddenly it’s not helping. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what to do….

Falling

Falling

This week has been so intense. And so busy and full on. And it’s funny, I recently read a post by another blogger and I made a connection in my head, that I’m often stupidly busy.

And I wondered aloud whether there is a direct correlation between how busy I am and how badly things are for my mental state.

As I feel like there is. That dawning realisation that my busy-ness is actually keeping me alive somehow. Because when I’m busy, I have commitments. And when I have commitments I feel responsible for things and I feel so much guilt about not completing them or leaving people in the lurch, that I’m stuck here until I’ve seen them through.

I never really noticed that before. Even though I constantly get people asking me how I do all the things I do.

How I cope with the workload I create for myself.

And honestly sometimes I want to crumple in a pile on the floor and sob that I’m not coping. I can’t do this anymore and all I want is to be dead….. and sleep forever….. but I don’t.

I paste on a bright smile and I laugh lightly and go with something along the lines of ‘gosh I don’t know, you just do it because it needs to be done ya know?’

Internally I’m second guessing every choice. Wishing my life was different. But externally I look like I have everything together.

Internally, every night I wonder what the fastest and easiest way to commit suicide is. But externally I appear comfortable and competent.

Internally I’m a fucking mess who can’t adult. Not even slightly. And if a real adult saw my thoughts they would know I’m a fraud – a petulant and sometimes irresponsible teenager inside an adults body. Because externally I run three companies, have multiple children at home, am supervising property developments, managing rental properties, volunteering for charity work and for the school and kindy committees….

Internally I wonder how the fuck our companies make money and I get so anxious about decisions I sometimes just get irrationally angry and switch off. Externally I look cool, calm and collected and I act like a #bossbitch who doesn’t let anyone push her around or walk all over her.

How do you reconcile those two things? Really?

I describe myself as a high functioning sufferer of anxiety and depression.

Because in the past I’ve suffered crippling depression where I didn’t get out of bed for six weeks. And that was non-functioning depression.

This time, I make myself get up every day even though I want to stay in bed. I force myself to bed even though insomnia has me blogging at 1am. I make myself pretend life is a bed of roses when I’m falling apart.

I take a xanax and ‘cope’ with life. Or a sleeping tablet. But I try not to use them often I save them for when I’m desperate.

Because one of my fears is addiction. And another is not being able to control my fears. So I need those meds to work and I’m so scared of building any sort of tolerance to them I only allow myself a half tablet at once and never more than once a week. The rest of the time I suffer in silence. Never telling a soul how every day I want to die.

How I long for a cliff I could drive off and into the ocean forever.

And if it literally wasn’t for my children, I wouldn’t be here now. But I cannot break their hearts. They are my anchor. At least for now. But I’m scared of the day when that’s not enough…..

Terrified.

Fuck Cancer.

Fuck Cancer.

Apologies in advance for the multitude of times I want to say Fuck Cancer.

The brief part of the year where one slides into another has forever been turned into a horrific time of year for us. It’s so unbelievably hard now.

In September 2016 my Nana was diagnosed with secondary brain cancer and given 6 weeks to live. My Dad and I (with a few weeks help from an aunt) nursed her for almost four months at home before we couldn’t do anymore and put her into respite for 5 days to have a break. She went downhill so rapidly in there that bar one short visit home for the day, they forced her into end stage hospital care. She passed away 10 days after going into hospice and my Dad and I were devastated.

We buried her just before Christmas.

Then at the end of January, just barely past Christmas and my Nana’s loss, a man who was like a second father to me, for almost 20 years, suddenly went downhill fast. One day he was working 7-7 and fine and the next he didn’t turn up for work. We knew he had cancer but we thought he had ages. Bad days happened though during his fight so we didn’t think too much of it the first day. The second we were confused, and the third we had the bomb dropped that he may never be back at work. The fifth his children arrived and the sixth we spent a whole day talking about old times, his children all together and laughing and reminiscing. The seventh day he was gone. Like an explosion, he passed away about 3am. We got the call and rushed up there knowing we were too late and feeling guilty for leaving the night before.

Those two losses were truly devastating and even more so, when they were so close together.

I was so close to my Nan. I would spend most of a day every Thursday with her. And I would take her to appointments. I would colour her hair. We would go out for coffee. She would help me with the boys and I would help with whatever she needed. And in her last months I was with her almost every day. Life was put on hold to care for her and her decline was terrifyingly fast. It was so incredibly hard watching the strong, ferocious woman she was become bed bound. Needing constant supervision, she couldn’t walk, couldn’t toilet herself. The radiation made her hair fall out – her hair that was her pride and joy with 6 weekly colours and 3 monthly perms. And it felt like it was too fast….. it took me 2 years to take the weekly alarms out of my phone for my days with Nana. I almost couldn’t do it as my heart still wanted to go. I still had so much to say even though we spoke so often.

And if I thought Nana went fast my ‘other’ Dad went even faster and it was a dizzying week. I was barely getting my head around him suddenly seeming so sick when he too had been so incredibly strong! He had fought bowel cancer with a week off work total. And they cleared him for a whole month before they told us that they had found liver and lung tumours which were aggressive and mostly untreatable. They did try a long course of chemo but he told them no more in early December because he wanted to enjoy Christmas. If it was possibly his last he wanted to enjoy tasting food. He wanted to eat without a mouth full of ulcers. He wanted his taste buds back. He wanted to be able to have a Christmas without nausea and vomiting. And he got it. Even if that Christmas for us was a more somber affair as we knew what he’d given up and we knew time was ticking now. But we had no idea how much or how little time there was…..

The last week we had him, my partner and I spent every minute awake up there with him. On the Thursday night his daughter and another son arrived. On the Friday night his last son arrived. And on the Thursday I made his favourite cakes. Those were the last things he ate and to this day I haven’t been able to bring myself to make them again.

I was so glad I was able to do that before he couldn’t eat anymore. I’m grateful to him for asking for them. And thankful that I took the time to make them.

His decline was head spinningly fast. He was laughing and happy on the Saturday evening. But then he got suddenly exhausted. As if the day had taken every last ounce of his energy. And when he fell asleep we hadn’t been able to wake him when we were leaving to go home…. we had discussed staying. But we were told to go. That he would be okay. We left about midnight. And the call came just after 3am. That heartbreaking phone call that as soon as the phone rang we both sat bolt upright and looked at each other. I remember saying oh no… and he answered it. We were told he was gone and to come now. So we dressed and grabbed the kids in their jammie’s and sleeping and loaded them into the car and we rushed up there. It was horrific. I just couldn’t believe it was only a few hours since we had been with him and now he was gone.

Both left huge holes in our lives and my kids lives.

They lost a Grandad and a Great-Grandmother in just weeks. And both were so important to both of the boys. But more so my oldest son who was best friends with his Grandad. He lived there every weekend and half the week. They were inseparable. And grandad was at our house every single day. He never missed coffee in the mornings with the kids and always came to say goodbye before leaving work for the night. He wouldn’t dream of going home without seeing his boys! He was so close to my elder boy and was starting to get almost as close to my younger boy as he was growing to adore his Grandad as much as his brother did. My heart hurts every day still when I watch both boys developing and growing and I think that he is missing out on these boys potential. And they are missing him. I think often how much he would have adored them both. How much he did adore them, but I often see little things and think oh man. If only he was able to have seen that personality trait of the boys…. or how much he would have loved to share his world with them. They were the centre of his universe and the thing he cared about the most.

I have his photo in my lounge and we talk to him every day. And every day we wish he was here with us and every day I’m still mad he’s not. That life is just too unfair. My babies deserved more time with their Grandad. We deserved more time wth him. We need him…. still.

And I feel like even though it’s been a few years now, I’m still learning to live without both he and my Nana. Isn’t that terrible? I feel like I’m still grieving them both!

I wonder when it ends….. if you ever stop missing them so desperately?

A strange kind of life

A strange kind of life

Things got really settled for me quite quickly.

Even though never in a million years would I think that I would have been standing next to a man like the one that chose me.

He was a hard worker and self motivated. But with a more quiet kind of confidence about him. An amusing, quick wittedness about him and a retort/quip/comeback to everything.

He was a smart man who had his own set of confidence issues which were more to do with his sport and competing instead of toward his daily life. He was a top level competitor. One of the best in his field.

And in his work life he was talented beyond belief. I got to watch him work a lot as more and more I found myself accommodating his work time and our hang out time as being the same thing. Particularly in the evenings when he would have to drop everything for a work call. I would go with him just to squeeze a few more hours out of our together day.

And after a few months I resigned from my job. It wasn’t the job that had been advertised to me. I was supposed to be store manager but the assistant manager who thought he would have been moving up to that role so at the dummy. So to placate him they made us both managers of a tiny store. And life was getting more and more awkward as he hated having to report to someone. Toxic workplaces are always shitty so I got our while the going was good.

And I got out thinking I’d find another job really quickly. I was highly skilled and motivated as well as attractive and qualified in IT. Networking engineering and solutions. Web design, infrastructure. Even physical machine builds. And I was excellent at customer service. But even then I was struggling for the first time and I was struggling to pay my rent on time. So I debated moving back to Mums and he invited me instead to come and live with him. We had been going out three months. It was as good a time as ever right?

I moved in. Packed everything I had. Sold my bed and some bits and pieces and scaled right back on life as his place. I couldn’t call much more than a shack…. over a garage. With wonky floors and windows. Two rooms. An outdoor shower – in our cold winters I can tell you that was an adventure!!! The kitchen and lounge were one room. Bedroom another. The lounge was also his work office that he shared with his Dad.

Oh boy. I don’t even know how to describe it but it became home for about a decade.

We went through some (more for me really) rough moments there. With a few of the women he has been dangling carrots for and never following through with. Some of these women wouldn’t leave him alone and I put my door down after a few months. No more visits unless these girls were prepared to come to our house and meet me. Which went down like a lead balloon. But I was firm on this one. And I wasn’t going to give in. So most of them slowly drifted away, thankfully. The odd one would call from time to time to catch up and they would vanish again quickly when he would tell them we were still together.

All but one. I shall call her J. An early childhood teacher who was besotted and acted entirely pathetic when it came to D. Or Mr Longterm.

She would bring her car into work to be worked on and I would be asked to find somewhere else to be those days and I would fume. Until one day I said nope. Not happening. This is my house too and if she ever wants to bring her car back then she needs to show me some respect. Or she could go elsewhere. And whoooooooooo boy didn’t that open up a can of worms. Because of course she refused to come up and meet me and swiftly left saying she would come back and pick it up when it was done.

So pickup time rolled around and again I told my partner if he ever wanted to work on her car again he’s best being her up to meet me. Otherwise she was going to have to go elsewhere. And she again left a few minutes later. By which time I was furious. But she drove to the end of the street. Called my partner on the phone and desperately begged him to meet her down there and this man actually walked away from his upset and hurt partner to talk to someone he called ‘just a fuck buddy bub’

I packed my bags that day. And when he came back I wasn’t interested in speaking to him while I collected my things, no matter what he had to say and it was when I went leave he physically stopped me by blocking my exit and begged me not to leave as he had done what I’d suggested and told her she had offended me so much and been trying to be so sneaky that I wasn’t going to have anything to do with her and that if he had any respect for me, or us, then he would cut her loose.
A little mean, but I felt so solidly that if she truly cared for him as a friend (like I do with my male friends) then she wouldn’t have a problem coming to meet me. She wouldn’t have any issue with coming round for coffee. Hanging out with us. Being a part of both our lives.
But this whole, refusing to set foot in the house if I was there? Asking him to only see her when I wasn’t around? Nope.
That’s not how I roll.
It’s either all out in the open, and honest. Or it’s not happening. And I felt that it was his place to decide whether he really wanted her as a friend, and to ask her to be involved in our lives, or he could choose to go and be with her. Either way wasn’t a fun decision for the poor guy, but I don’t like secrets. And I don’t trust people who want couples to keep secrets from each other. It builds distrust, and I already had enough of that going on!
He was adamant he didn’t want me to leave though. So I guess at least that was a priority for him….

She, like the others, disappeared after that. I think once he realised I was serious about his ‘girls’ either accepting me and learning to enjoy both of our company, then they needed to be history.
We had so many friends, as I said to him one night when we were talking about them, that he could pick and choose who he wanted in his life, so he needed to make the hard decisions about which people were important and weren’t. Which he could live without and which he couldn’t. And most importantly, which were going to be the ones he could trust to support his relationship goals, and which were just going to work to tear them down.
I know my preference is for friends who will support you, even through your dumb decisions. Who will help you climb out of your mistakes and learn and grow from them. Not the friends who would drag you deeper into the mire and lose you in the darkness.
And he made a lot of dumb decisions over the years.
So it was easy to see who was really there for him and who stuck it out through all the rubbish and was still there to see all the good.

I know now, looking back, he’s glad he made the choice he did, even if it was a choice he didn’t want to make. Because he didn’t want to hurt any of them.
He has a good heart through it all.
And a cute ass.

A new relationship.

A new relationship.

After my dating period, I changed a lot I think.
Learned a lot about myself, my feelings and who I wanted to be for myself.
And I somewhat accidentally found myself meeting someone.

I’d seen him at the park often, he was a good looking guy. And in conversation with my friend J, we were talking about conquests and having an rather light hearted discussion about the struggle of being a young woman, who didn’t want a serious relationship, but was looking for more of a fling situation…. and J brought up this guy. Pointed him and and said to me, that if I wanted a fling, he’d probably be up for it.
I eyed him up and thought well why not. But courage to approach people sober, wasn’t really a strong area for me. So I didn’t give it too much thought right then.

A few weeks later, I was at the park with my tiny daughter in her buggy. I’d been giving a lady a skating lesson, which I regularly did and I saw him again.
At the end of the lesson, we had been talking about how this woman needed to be more confident within herself. She needed to trust her body and trust the process. She was doing so well, but she was so timid.
As she left, I decided to take my own advice, and knowing my daughter was spending the evening with her grandparents who could only see her after work, I took a deep breath and I went up to him and said ‘hey’
He looked over at me and I remember thinking to myself, now or never just DO it!
I asked him if he had plans tonight… and without letting him answer, I asked if he would like to go to the movies that night.
I quite honestly thought I was going to die as it felt like forever before he said he really wasn’t sure of his plans that night, but could he call me later. And like your average 15 year old, I actually wrote my name and number on his arm. With a ballpoint pen. Because that was all I had on me!!!
So well thought out right???

I don’t think I’ve ever left the park that fast. A bit of a laugh now, but I was so convinced that he probably thought I was a complete idiot, that I went home and phoned a friend to go to the movies with me so I didn’t have to go alone.
J was laughing his ass off at me. Somewhat impressed I’d actually spoken to him and hysterical over the arm writing! I was feeling 2 inches tall and so embarrassed.
While we were on the phone, call waiting beeped and I got him to hold on.
I nearly dropped the phone when I realised it was HIM! On the phone! And he was talking to me!
In fact he said, he was pretty free that evening if my offer of a movie still stood.
Shit. J was on the other line. Act casual woman.
So I smiled and told him of course (didn’t want to sound desperate) it was going to be fun. Movies with friends. I gave him my address and the time and told him to pick me up.
Then went back to J and told him what was up. I said a group trip would be less awkward and he rallied the troops.

Date night went well, and we endured the movie and then came back to my place. Where he got to meet the flatmates. And surprisingly got green lighted by the boys.
I was shocked as hell because they hated everyone…. it was the strangest evening.
He kissed me on the cheek goodbye and left… telling me to call him.

I sat on the couch with my flatmates going what just happened? They had less idea than I did….

He phoned me the following day, and we started hanging out. Every day for three weeks I saw him at some point. Usually evenings after work. And the longer we hung out the more confusing things were getting for me.
I was getting attached, but he was aloof…. but he just kept on calling. And coming over.

One night I invited him for dinner when he called me up to see what I was doing. It was my turn to cook, so I offered for him to join us and asked him what he ate.
He only didn’t eat fish, chicken or mushrooms. Seemed easy enough until I realised that my flatmate had gotten out chicken for dinner…. chicken pasta it was. So gourmet right? There wasn’t much I could do really as I didn’t realise C had already tried to help until the meat was defrosted. And we didn’t do food waste so I served it up to him and to his absolute credit he ate a whole plateful. And it wasn’t until the end of the meal and C asked what he thought of it, that he responded quite honestly with that actually he didn’t eat chicken…. cue crickets chirping, my face going beetroot red and my two flatmates promptly falling about laughing. Awkward much?????

So having survived that epic flop – of which I was never able to live down, this man still stuck around.

And I have to admit to you here, that he had been staying the night most nights. But we had yet to have sex. And it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part…. sort of.

I will say that given that he was very hot, very attentive and a load of fun, I wasn’t quite confident enough to go down the completely blunt road of ‘hey I think you’re a bit hot, let’s get jiggy with it’ even though actually that would have been a) effective and b) would have solved a number of issues as I wasn’t sure why I felt so almost…. shy around him.

It wasn’t like he was the first….

But I think the problem was I liked him a little too much. So I was a bit afraid of rejection. He was such a gentleman and he would leave the room when I needed to change or mentioned going to sleep… he would excuse himself to the bathroom conveniently for five minutes. And one night after sneaking out of the room and imploring C to tell me how to get this man to pay me the attention I wanted, he came up with the brilliantly male solution of ‘just get ya tits out’ and he assured me that unless he was gay that would surely work. So I went back into my room and I got brave. I took a deep breath and pulled up my shirt over my head without warning him. And when I looked at him to gauge his response he was looking in the other direction! He was looking away to give me privacy! Aarrghhhh! Could I literally do nothing right?

And yes, my flatmates had an absolute field day with that one!!! They started taking bets on his sexuality…. whether he had a daytime girlfriend too or whether he was just so pretty he was completely stupid.

So around week three, J was starting to get a bit stroppy with me for disappearing on him and not wanting to come hang so I agreed ‘we’ would come along on one of his infamous adventures. And I told him when he turned up that evening as he inevitably did, that we had plans that night.

We went out to the supermarket as J has said pack a picnic. And bought food and drink. And we picked J up and a couple of other friends. He said we were meeting the other ‘up there’ and wouldn’t tell me where we were going but promised it would be fun. Then as we were driving he started chatting away. Inane conversation until he randomly threw in the ‘soooo what’s up with you two. You guys a couple yet?’ To which I wanted to disappear. I looked at him and shut my mouth. Nope not getting into that one here…. he looked at me sideways and I very deliberately looked at the road and not him, and he casually responded with a noncommittal mumbled ‘I dunno’ which shut the conversation down. And we drove about 20 minutes listening to mostly J’s chatter, from town before parking up in a somewhat dark and deserted spot except for a few lonely cars. Which turned out to be our friends. And that became known once we got out and I realised seeing them there waiting for us.

J had torches, and he pointed across to the dark bush and said we were going up there. Such a freaky experience wandering through dense bush, with no idea where you were other than with 10 other friends who clearly seemed to know what the deal was. But this was a new place to me…. we hiked up hills. Climbed a few hundred stairs and then all of a sudden we popped out of the trees and into a huge clearing and a beautiful white stone monument. It was breathtaking. Lit up like Christmas, the whole thing was stone and just glowed with this ethereal light. And looking beyond the monument was a sea of darkness between us and the beautiful twinkling lights of the city beyond us. It was so dark we could see every star in the sky and crystal clear. I was awestruck by this incredible place and J looked at me and told me he knew it was worth the hike wasn’t it? It truly was. And I didn’t even know the significance of the site yet!

So we all sat up there for a few hours. Talking, laughing, eating and drinking. Taking in the sights and the sounds of nature which had replaced the sounds of the city.

But it wasn’t long before J decided to push things again because he had at one point in the evening asked me point blank if we were going out yet or what and I’d told him I had no clue and that he’d stayed for three weeks but we hadn’t even slept together yet. Which he found as hilarious as my flatmates did. It was more than a little irritating that I was such a source of amusement to them all.

So he asked him this time, if we were going out yet? And he grabbed my hand this time and instead of talking to J he looked at me and said ‘I don’t know, are we?’

I felt cornered and I had no idea what he wanted from me, so I went with the non-committal… and I replied with ‘well I don’t know, it’s not like you’ve asked me!’ Thinking that he’d let it go at that if he wasn’t interested.

Instead he looked at me and actually asked me out! I was blindsided. ‘Well, would you like to go out with me?’ Such a simple sentence and one that sent me into a giddy spin…..

I said ‘of course I would!’ (Well duh! I wasn’t going to say no was I?) and that was when he kissed me for the first time.

And while I’d like to say fireworks went off…. I’m not sure J shining a torch at us and whooping like a dementor really qualifies as fireworks. But it made us laugh and wasn’t something I’ll forget, oh, ever!

It’s still the only time a man has ever asked me out. Which you have to admit is a little bit cute…. And he finally admitted in conversations later that night that of course he liked me, he had from the start but he was in fact really shy and because I had so many male friends, he thought he was just one of the boys too so he was too scared to make a move in fear of being rejected. He also admitted that J has given him a bit of a tune up about it that night and told him to man up before I sent him packing which made it my turn to laugh myself silly.

And that was when I realised that we had both been setup in the most epic fashion by one of my best friends….. I don’t know how he knew we would be good together. But I swear the man’s a magician and he somehow knew. And his bait & switch worked. Making me think I was hooking a player. Making him think he was going to get relegated to the loser pile if he didn’t move faster and sending us both in search of each other when neither of us were looking for anything remotely serious.

It’s been almost 20 years since the night he asked me out. We have two children now and while we aren’t the young kids we were, and our journey hasn’t been without it’s struggles and trials, we are here. Still.

Hanging on

Hanging on

Sometimes I never quite know whether I’m going to make it to the end of the day.

I know that sounds terrible. But right now we have so much going on in our lives and so much stress that there are times when I just wanna scream…

Stop the world… I wanna get off

There has to be a breaking point right? A point where the human psyche just cannot tolerate any more. Where the decision is categorically removed from your hands and your brain goes into some kind of overload protection mode? I mean, when one is given so much to deal with, it’s just kinda a given that you get to places where the darkness envelopes your mind like a fuzzy blanket and all you can do is close your eyes and succumb to the nothing.

I’m torn between wanting to sleep all day. To ignore all my responsibilities, and just rest. And the guilt that goes along with that when I know that if I do, it’s not just me who I’m letting down. It’s my children and my partner who works insane hours and is exhausted beyond belief. Because he would end up picking up the slack. And I just feel like I can’t do that to him.

He has no idea of how many times I have imagined driving my car off a cliff somewhere into the ocean. Or of taking so many painkillers that I would float away forever. Or of how I’ve calculated whether it’s possible to hold your own breath long enough to stop your heart.

I know he would miss me. And I know it would break him. Because I’ve had to be there for him when he lost loved ones and I know that pain he would suffer. I know my kids would be devastated and would struggle to get through life. And those two things are what I cling to even though I hate my life so much. I hate the idea of causing my babies pain more. And their dad being broken would hurt them deeply. He is quite literally too exhausted to cope right now and I don’t know how to help him as I’m too stressed and exhausted myself.

I wish it was easier to find staff. I just don’t understand why we are finding it so hard when we are good employers. We look after our people – and we offer good training. We have been advertising and advertising and every person we like seems to find it too hard to jump through agency hoops. Or the agencies won’t help them. Or the agencies tell them they cannot take the job for health reasons (prior injury). And the ones that desperately want the job, are silly enough to discuss their history of theft with us. Or their dislike of the institution that is having a job. Or they want huge money while doing a substandard job and causing damage we have to repair. Or they want to tell us all about how they have sued every employer they have had and everyone in the world owes them money. Or they lie about medical issues and cannot pass the physical the government require. And it baffles me. I can easily see why many are unemployed…..

I feel like people’s work ethic these days is so far removed from mine. My partners. My families. And I don’t understand it. I was brought up in a generation where we work for a living. You go to work and you give it your all and you get paid s wage for that. And no matter how you feel, you just get up and go. So even on my worst days, when I cannot face the world, I do it. I put on my happy face mask and I drag myself out of bed. Force in a coffee and chocolate and I do my job. Day in and day out. The only time I’m forced to take a day off is if I’m actually really ill. Like when I was hospitalised with Pneumonia. I did stay off work for a bit then. I had no choice!

But so many people think work is disposable. Or that they deserve more money than they do. I’m baffled by the people that demand a pay rise and go to the toilet to supposedly empty their bowels. 8 or more times a day. And then you check their online presence and notice that all of their commenting and posting coincides with bathroom visits. They call it multitasking. And get offended when I point out that social media isn’t what they are paid to do. And even more offended if you dare point out that they need to stop with that.

They can never figure out how I know either…..

I feel like I’m looking for a unicorn. Someone who loves work. Understands the balance between work and home life and who is willing to complete all tasks assigned to them to the best of their ability without breaking anything.

All I want is a break from work. I would like to be able to take my kids out on the weekend once a month. Not even every weekend. Because my kids know the sacrifice they and we make to give them a good life. But one weekend a month we would like to spend time with them. As a family. Without work butting in. Anyone got a unicorn going spare?

Maybe it would help my mental health and my stress levels.

Sometimes I just want the world to stop spinning. Even just for a few minutes so I can clear my head and find myself again.