It's 11.30pm on a windy Saturday night and I'm searching the internet for help to deal with loneliness as a single parent.
The incense burning in the hallway smells like the home I felt most comfortable in; growing up. My mums home.
Smelling it unlit, takes me back to a time when the M.S hadn't yet stolen my childhood or teenage years. A good friend introduced me to "What's Eating Gilbert Grape" last night and I couldn't help but cringe.
I know I had to grow up faster than I should have. I looked after my mum a fair bit and not by choice. I don't hold it against her at all, it's just how it was.
I never had the mum who was there on sports days or at assembly clapping for me, or who was on the PTA with all the others. Mine never picked me up from school or took me to the discos; she never danced with me in the lounge or painted my toenails or bounced on the tramp with me.
I had the mum who was sleeping off a migraine that made her vomit all through the night. The mum who was so overtired she tried lighting her cigarettes with scissors. The mum who yelled at grocers when her cigarettes weren't in stock, or when they gave her a funny look. The mum with a walking stick.
I had a weak mum. And I always felt guilty when I was happy. I still do. I love her dearly don't get me wrong. But hell. If you get it, you get it.
I've sort of spiralled out of what this post was meant to be about.
Sundays.
Fuck, I hated Sundays.
"Family Day", to all my friends who had married parents and siblings to share a back-seat with.
I had infomercials about blenders and fake tan, and 2 minute noodles for breakfast infront of the gas heater; while mum slept the day away and my brother didn't seem to exist (most teenagers don't...). Or I was at my dads and I woke up freezing cold to watch cartoons and What Now in my PJ's then all of a sudden it was the afternoon and ofcourse dad had work to do. So, the afternoons were a constant "ball in my throat" type of feeling where I was holding back tears. I was just so lonely.
I hated Sundays. I still do. I hate the same sinking feeling I get when I realise I'm 22 and still feel the same bloody way. I hated that school was looming, that Monday 8am the alarm would go off and I would want to vomit. Somehow, even years after that reality is no longer; I still feel the same dread- but it's not for Monday it's just for the rest of Sunday.
I guess Sundays suck for me, because I'm still not able to have those "Family Day's".
Weekdays are so much easier because there's some sort of routine- even though I'm not working, there's lunchtime and dinner time... shower time and teeth time... the same TV schedule as last week. It's predictable and it's comforting.
I look forward to my daughters bedtime. Don't we all? But the difference between single/non single parents is that once the bedtime is done- what comes next?
For me, it's a whole lot of loneliness. A lot of it. I wander past a mirror and sometimes get a smile back; depending on how the day went. I would love to look over the room and see a smile no matter what happened that day. I would love to rub someone's feet while they rubbed mine. I would love them to not need me to talk and just enjoy the silence between us.
I would LOVE to have someone love me as much as I love them. To steal my loneliness and throw it out the window. To just be there, and like me. And be NICE. Oh god, how I would love to be around someone without them raising their voice or lying or denying something.
Aren't those normal things? To eat dinner together, to enjoy food, a glass of wine or a bloody good beer... To relax together. To just BE, together.
Jesus, I just don't know.
I'm not lonely because I'm alone. It's not that at all. I can deal with being alone, I can deal with who I am and I love who I am- I think that's part of the problem! Why doesn't anyone else?
But lonely and alone are very different things.
I don't even know why I'm writing this. It's a bit of a mess. I can still smell the incense and I somehow want to sleep now. Even though I've slept the whole day away.
