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Wednesday, April 27, 2011


to be trapped inside yourself is a very dangerous thing, the risks escalating considerably if you have not ever been taught just exactly how to get out.  

...being pregnant, broke and abandoned in a crack house on the other side of the world scared me just enough to reach out and ask for help. unfortunately the closest thing to help was the junkie neighbour's floor to sleep on for the night. i told them what had happened and that i didn't know what to do. also i think looking back i wanted L to worry thinking i had gone and didn't need him if he came back. i was carrying his child after all. i didn't want to sleep in the house he had left me in. so next door i smoked and smoked and finally curled into my sleeping bag on the floor in the living room. the couple who lived there and some other guy played cards and smoked crack from a broken green glass pipe. smells like rubber when it's smoked. each with swollen faces and hard beady eyes sitting around a table cluttered with empty beer bottles full of cigarette ashes. their kids crying themselves to sleep in the back room. i can still hear their children crying. they asked me to join them but the party didn't seem like mine anymore. it belonged to someone else. it wasn't fun anymore. my mind spinning. how did i get pregnant anyways? how long did it take to damage a unborn baby by using/drinking? how developed was a fetus by 9 weeks? they had taken my passport saying they didn't trust me but that if i hadn't stolen anything by the morning i could have it back. i felt totally helpless. cried myself to sleep. 

now for most of my life the worst part about waking up has been remembering where i am. their house no exception. it was early maybe 6am, no signs of life. my passport on the table soaked in beer. i found the address to a crisis center in a ripped dusty old phone book on top of the fridge. grabbed an orange off the counter, shoved my backpack together and quickly left. walked for over an hour in the hot sun with all my stuff on my back. in a waiting speak to a counsellor. sitting there i remember was the first time i felt tired. tired enough to not get back up. this was the first time in my life suicide crossed my mind. i wasn't going to jump out the window right then. the thought just appeared. it wasn't even a formed thought and it certainly didn't stay long. it passed by darkly and quietly, almost like a possible alternative to the present. i can't remember what the counsellor told me. basically your fucked in a much more professional manner. she couldn't give me money. only advice. pamphlets to read about what to do in the event of being fucked. i think she told me to go home. instead i went back to the empty house and i'm not exactly sure why...the truth was, i was wandering lost in a fog. i wasn't sure exactly where to go. i sat there for almost 6 hours looking at the wall and smoking rolled cigarette's when i heard a car pull into the driveway. it was L. resentment surged up like a tidal wave inside of me. anger covered my eyes in bright red and fear put it's hand tightly over my mouth. taking pity on me i guess. he never said otherwise. 'more trouble than your worth' was the only thing he said on the 12 hour drive back to cronulla. i was just thankful to get a ride back. 

my old roommate begrudgingly opened her door temporarily as the room was still vacant and i was obviously in a state of distress. she said i could find work and back pay her. i think part of her liked me, the same part that liked to watch train wreck's. 

a friend appeared. K, a man i still love and treasure to this day. he was an early morning walker who stopped frequently at the small cafe. then he would swim in the ocean. he is the one friend i made in australia. i'm not sure if i told him how much he saved me, or what the money i was borrowing was actually for. knowing me back then i most likely lied saying it was rent related. i bet he never thought he'd see it again.

abortion clinic in sydney. the polite way to phrase voiding an unborn life is terminate- by definition 'coming to an end or capable of ending' was i capable? i was almost 12 wks by this point. 3 months. i will never forget this day as it has taken something away that should have stayed. something i should have been more careful with. this day took happiness and hope and left shame, guilt and grief. a small hallway. nurse holding my hand. lay back on the table. soft blue gown. exposed. open. the mask coming towards my face. {'s not a soul...not it? just think of it as science....i cant go back home with a baby. how did this happen to me? ....just do it. he doesn't want you. you loser. you miserable fucking worthless whore. your hurt is spreading now...taking other's with it....look at all the things you have destroyed...... } warm and fuzzy. the next world comes to me. i'm floating in the soft pink cracked porcelain bath tub with swirls of blood surrounding me. i'm fine. no you can't take this away. i've already tried. the only thing that takes it away is alcohol. alcohol. alcohol. passed out. alive. hungover. passed out. blackness. and on and on and on. one morning i stood up and blood poured down my legs.

get it together. new job. nanny. 2,4,7. louie, christian and peter. three little boys all from different father's. 3 months live in. i met the mother the day i was hired in her enormous mansion. after that i never saw her again. i cooked, cleaned, read books, bathed, dressed, ironed...i was their mom. not much time to drink. it was a really nice time i enjoyed them. i normally picked them up after their school in the car but one day walked bringing along the stroller in case louie's legs got tired on the way home. i was moving hastily running late, bumping it all around behind me, pulling it up curbs. a lady looked at me in shock from her car thinking there was a baby in it. but there was no baby. i was pushing an empty stoller. she would have been a girl. she would have been 12. she would have been named gracie. i'm sorry gracie.

i had been in australia almost a year when my position was up. a girl arrived for the interview outside the house in her black convertible with music blaring. 'your the old nanny? 'yup' i said putting out my smoke. 'are they brats?' she asked. i smiled. she was a wild crazy thing. blond hair. tight shirt. enormous fake breasts. glossy lips. hadn't bothered to turn off her music. she went to turn as i asked 'aren't you going in for the job?' 'nope, sounds like work...need a ride?' she said heading towards her car. haha she just threw in the towel right there. billy jean was blasting as she sped up the windy hills away from the enormous mansions along manly beach. i remember thinking she's fun. she's crazy. so reckless. i love her. i want her wild strength. but you know i can't even remember her name. she was the girl who taught me to roll down your window down and blow gum out as hard as you could, to insert a tampon while driving, to politely accept or decline group sex, to steal. we snorted beautiful thick white rails at her house for 3 wks. people sprawled everywhere in her fancy apartment. together we were like fire and gasoline. explosive. volatile. we consumed you. man, drug or bottle. 

ok now it ends abruptly and i'm terribly sorry but i do not recall exactly how. my next memory is flying to melbourne, taking a bus along the great ocean road to adelaide and being lifted up again in the belly of a 747 into the beautiful soft clouds towards malaysia. disappearing into the air.

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