In The Beginning April 7th 2000

It's not supposed to be hard to do this. But it is, so I won't pretend that it's not. Where to start? Well, why did I start this little book? Well, I saw it on the Oprah show. I think I'm supposed to write down what's on my mind and what's there in my life to be grateful for. So what's on my mind? Ah; therein lies a can of worms. I think yesterday was the worst day in my Life. Ever. I'm still trying to get my head around it and what it's going to mean to my life. It's very scary. I don't even want to write it down; I don't want to relive yesterday. But I Think I have to put it into words if I'm going to learn anything from it about myself. So here goes. I'll try-at least- to put it all in. The day started bad. I don't know why. I think it's because I was nervous to read my story about Star in front of the class. Okay; not just nervous. I think I was panicked. I couldn't even bring myself to read it out loud to myself let alone imagine reading it to anyone; and when I did I was sure that everyone in the class knew it was about me. I know I can't read my new story out; that is far more incriminating.

Anyhow, So I read out the story. I swear I was gonna be sick or cry; or both. I think I had a panic attack or something. I have never felt quite so anxious before and was still shaking two hours later when I visited Loz. So far the day was bad enough. I went and played DX Ball on the computer at Dad's for a few hours and then picked up my Son from school. I was talking to one of the other mums, Patti, about Sociology and the same thing happened again. I couldn't talk and my voice was shaking. I didn't know what was wrong; I still don't. I think I'm reaching the end of my tether. Everything seems to be on top of me at the moment; everything's too hard. I don't feel happy and I don't feel normal. Not many people know how I am. Not everyone can relate to me. I know this.

So then I took my Son to Scouts; sat in my usual spot and didn't speak to anyone. As usual. Did the puzzles in That's Life and read the articles. One of them made me feel a little weepy- a story from a girl to her dead dad. And I smiled happily at the chocolate cake page. Then I went home. I hadn't been home ten minutes and then Hubby spoke. It started bad; he asked what I had been doing all day; so I told him- went to uni, Loz's and then down to Mum's to use the computer. He thinks I've been on the chatlines with someone, or emailing my 'dickhead' mates. I guess he meant anyone I know. Got a bit defensive; cos I knew what was coming. Last Friday night.

We hadn't spoken about it. I was waiting for him to bring it up cos I didn't want to start another argument. He took that as a sign of my guilt. Then he started saying how he had thought about it carefully( for six days actually) and had decided that he couldn't just sweep this under the carpet. Three strikes and I was out; basically. I couldn't believe he was saying it. It felt like a joke. He said because I didn't care for his feelings he wasn't going to care about mine, and that if he felt like sticking his dick into another chick he would. I just said 'okay then' and had this worst feeling spreading through my body. I leant back on the sink cos my legs started shaking and I think it was about then that I started to cry a little. I asked him what I had done and just kept stating that I hadn't cheated on him. He said that Loz had woken him up last Friday because she was worried about me( which he interpreted as my behaviour) and I said that was because she just wanted to make sure that nothing would happen. He still disagreed; so I rang Loz and asked her to speak with him, which they did. I caught most of his conversation while I leant against the sink. I know she must have asked him if he still loved me; because he said if he didn't then he wouldn't still be here. There were lots of things that I know he was conveying wrong to her about me ( like what happened with Alistair in the loungeroom- to this day my Hubby believes I was kissing him on the couch.) My recollection is that when he was saying goodbye, so Goodbye, I'd give him a kiss goodbye; but then he would start talking again, and then it was this Goodbye thing again. It probably went on a few times; but there was nothing in it. Just saying Goodnight and Goodbye. I copped a fair amount of shit for it at the time. Sometimes I still do.

Anyway; after they finished talking I talked to Loz and she asked if I was okay. I didn't think so; I really think I lost it a little bit. I don't cry let alone sob. All I wanted was my wine, and I really mean I wanted it badly. I knew that if I'd had a couple of glasses (big ones) then it would have stopped my thinking. At the time all I was thinking was that the Voice was right. My Hubby would leave me and that I was a big loser. Should have seen it coming. I kept hearing him say he would stick his dick into someone else and that he didn't care. I couldn't say anything to Loz except that I didn't know and that I wanted to drink, what's the point etc. I don't think I've ever felt so low, not even when I went on the tablets before. After a while I calmed down a bit and found myself in the shower; looking at myself in the mirror. The sight was enough to set me off again; I just cried open-mouthed with no sound coming out, but still choking and breathing heavily. My mind flicked to the razor a few times I admit; I knew I wouldn't but still felt strangely happy and disgusted at the same time that it was there if I wanted it. Got in the shower, made it burning hot and just stood there making odd gutteral sounds and crying. Occasionally I stamped my foot and said shit like Not My Life; and other things like that. I have never felt like that before nor do I wish to again. When I was getting dry my Hubby came in and I was just crying in a voice that wasn't mine saying I was sorry; shaking all over. He came back in later and I told him I thought I might be mental. He told me he couldn't fix it; that was my job. I sat there for a while. My Son came in and sat with me and asked if I had a cold; I told him that I did.

I thought that I wouldn't have any dinner; surely if I get really sick and skinny my Hubby or someone will notice and get me help. Then I realised that was the same Voice who tells me how good it'd be if my Hubby came home and found me dead on the bed. Those thoughts aren't going to help me out. So I ate a bit of tea. I didn't really feel sorry for myself- I can't describe it really. I've never really listened to the voice before; I don't even like writing about it now. Perhaps this is the only way to get rid of it. Worth a try anyway. So last night I listened to it and it frightened me. I think it was the scariest thing I've ever done. Even later, watching the Footy Show after I had calmed down somewhat it was still there. It said I'd probably never kiss my Hubby again. He had said he didn't care and when I was saying I was sorry on that odd voice that wasn't mine I also said that he didn't love me anymore- that he had stopped. I said that because he asked me what the matter was. And he didn't deny it, which just reinforced what the voice had said. It's hard to describe the voice. It sounds like me but it's not me. It's irrational and confused. It scares me with the things it says. It predicts things. The only way I've found to control the voice is to drink. Loz says that the voice is just my fears but if that is true then how come these things come true? I'm supposed to be in control of it and I'm not. I'm glad I don't write like the voice. Although I could.

Yeah- so when the voice said I would never kiss my Hubby again some tears rolled down my face. That would be worse than a slow death. I hate the times that we aren't talking. I know a lot of that is my fault; sometimes all it takes is for him to come home late and I give him the silent treatment for days- eventually crawling up to him in bed. I don't know why I do it. I think it'd be easier if I just expressed my disapproval. But I don't. It's a mixture of hurt pride and feeling sorry for myself and thinking of how much I try to do when it doesn't seem like he does anything. He can leave the house when he wants. I'm the one stuck at home all day in my Den. The voice says that I should get out but I'm afraid to leave it. The voice knows that. Why am I afraid to leave it? I can't describe it. I think I've spent too long repressing shit rather than dealing with it. That's why the voice came out so strongly yesterday and that's why I couldn't control it. Now I'm worried it could get out all of the time. What if I turn into some raving loony like that all the time; just blubbering in the shower? I'm sure it's happened to other people. Would medication help? I don't know and I don't want to lose my orgasm power like before when I was on the pills. Plus they dried me all out and sex hurt. But they are only a short term solution to problems anyway. When I was on them before I started feeling better so I stopped taking them; thinking I was all fixed. Something broke last night that was ready to break for ages. Some days I just want to explode but that's not in my nature is it? So what do I do? I know what I'm doing right now. I make life miserable for my Hubby and Son. How can it not be misery coming home to me drunk all the time? And what's worse is I find my suffering so much worse than theirs; how fucking selfish is that? I cause it all and I don't even acknowledge it. What's my Son going to think about his childhood when he grows up? Oh, Mum was always drunk; Dad was always stoned; they fought a lot; I got ignored. And my Hubby. In all my woefulness I didn't even think how it must look when I get so drunk and bring home people to dance naked with. I guess it's a big slap in the face for him. I don't know why I've never thought about it like that before. And he was right when he said that if it was the other way round I would hate it, although I know he doesn't consider himsedlf a nudist so I still think it would be different. I only get 'nude sexually' with him. I think 'social nudity' is different. When I am nude at the beach or at home or a swim night I don't even look at other people's bodies. I like to think they don't look at mine; they probably do but it should be in a non-sexual way. If it's not I can't help that. I can only help what I do. That's why I never realise what I'm doing is wrong. What my Hubby sees is me, drunk, flaunting my body to strangers. I never think that way. I just enjoy being in the nude. I have never liked my body until the last few years and even now still consider it pretty flawed. Especially my tits which I hate. But then I have always been too skinny; even as a kid. I hate my saggy teabag tits! But at least I can accept them as mine now; which is an improvement. At the beach you see heaps worse. And better. Okay so I admit perhaps I do look a little. But it's only in comparison to mine.