FAITH. A BLAST FROM THE PAST.

Faith. A blast from the pastI found a piece of paper scrawled over with the brain zap of my 19 year old self falling in love for the first time. The first part was romantic as all hell. The usual treacle drenched musings of a teen in love. The last part made me realise that I’ve lost something important.

The first time I read it, the words sounded like someone else’s. Reading over it again I recalled those feeling from over 16 years ago. Sharp and hazy at the same time. I became aware that I held my breath as I read. I’ve always found the process of falling in love terrifying. But that very first time… I can feel that memory. Eyes open. Cheeks flushed by the cold, fast air against my face as we fell into the abyss together. Reckless. With a faith that I don’t think I ever had before or since. And today I am doing my own head in because I realize that I haven’t let go of all that pain, still harboring sadness from the actions of a boy who didn’t know what he was doing any more than I did.

It’s times like this I wonder how much damage I’m doing to myself walking into the doors at work? How many encounters can this little heart take? One after the other, with men who just by being who they are, no intent or malice, provide countless exhibits in the case against faith.

We almost got married. I was 19. I still have my wedding ring somewhere. We eloped to Rome, but I bailed 3 days before the wedding. I didn’t want to have that day without my family there. It didn’t feel right. I remember when I told him, we were sitting in the hot sun together, sweat running down the back of my calves as our legs dangled in unison over the stone blocks of ancient ruins in a park near the Colosseum. All he said was, “I feel like someone just cancelled Christmas.” His face was upturned and he squinted into the sun, before lowering his gaze to stare at the ground and take my clammy little hand in his. He was adorable. He loved me so very much.

Turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made.

My first love chose liquor and lies in the end. Let me travel 32 hours back to Australia alone, to have the jelly bean we made on the bottom bunk of a hostel bed in Dublin, vacuumed out of my uterus. Abortion was illegal in Ireland in January 2001. I had no option but to come home. He stayed over there to drink himself into oblivion, and didn’t come back until one year later when I said I knew he’d been banging someone else and that it was over between he and I. That slap in the face. It’s the slap in the face that reminds someone that they have something to lose. Sometimes too late.

Wasn’t too late for him. No way. I was still brimming with faith. I took him back, as you do. It didn’t work out, as it doesn’t. Took another 2 years to drown. I never long for, or mourn  the 14 year old child I could have had. I never long for, or mourn the relationship I had with him. But I long for, and mourn that faith. I don’t know how to get it back. I don’t know who is deserving of it or if I’ll ever find them. I still love that guy who saw it last. We are friends to this day, and I will always, always love him because he did the best he could, he never laid a hand on me, and he is a good person worth forgiving. We were young. We didn’t know any better. But somehow I knew this…

“I am terrified that we will sooner or later turn from each other and I will never be able to have back, or to give again, exactly what he has of me now.”

Faith….

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Jamless Donut

Sometimes I get home from work and feel completely demoralised. Tonight is one of those.  I guess 3 quiet nights in a row is enough to take the jam outta your donut. I’m also still trying to get my mojo back after having some time away with my family. Knowing that my mother is ashamed of what I do, knowing that it upsets her and that she’ll never accept it, is something that I bring back to Melbourne with me. I can feel myself carrying it around at work. This disappointment. And the judgement. Making me feel like her love is conditional. Bringing to the forefront my own conditioning.

I feel judged by all of them. As if my mother’s eyes and heart are everywhere, blanketing the club. With each dance I can feel myself hurting her. My guilt has stripped me of my confidence. I feel exposed. I feel awkward. I walk around the bar and I feel like crying but I have to smile. I smoke cigarettes regularly for the first time since May 15 2010. I can hear my own forced laughter and it sounds like breaking glass. Hard and sharp. These men can sense weakness, they really can, and it doesn’t make them nicer. My Catholic education and upbringing are ghosting me and I’d really, really, really just like them to fuck off.

It took me a long time to feel ok about what I do. It wasn’t until I fell in love with my boyfriend that I learnt to feel that there was nothing wrong with it, and nothing wrong with me. He is least judgemental person I’ve ever known. A blessing. I need to spend more time with him, so he can condition me in the other direction.

I have to snap out of it. Turn it all around for myself. Be ok with myself again. Stop thinking about donuts. Especially jam donuts. I can’t eat them. I should forget all about the donuts.