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Broken Promises

Posted Jul 28 2008 8:14pm
This past Easter Mr and I spent most of it, waist deep in moving boxes and dusty sheets that have definately seen better days and beds for that matter. Finally, I've made the move to Southside and detached myself from the safe option of living with Dave, my best friend and also my ex-boyfriend of five years. The two boys don't get on too well, and a few months ago this would be a challenge to make the two opposing personalities tolerate each other, heck maybe appreciate each other's distinct role in the life of Maddy but the more time I spent with Mr, playing house and firming up our prospective futures, the less time I had to indulge Dave and Mr's pissing contests and instead I have settled for cool civility for the time being. Dave would protest this, but he and I have a co-dependency that would rival most abusive relationships. I'm wary of trusting and therefore engaging any male that even faintly gives off a whiff of being an asshole and Dave requires my constant praise and recognition of his life and personal achievements. I've sobered enough now to realise that Internet addictions and having legions of Facebook fans does not a conversation make, it irks me that by helping Dave the Divorcee find his inner diva (the type of guy who pays half a week's wage on a pair of Jeans, to add to the five pairs he has for different moods and occasion) I have created an egomanical monster that thrives on a narcisistic diet of

emotionally abused teens, troubled self esteem lapses and depression mixed in with a hearty dollop of mid life crisis. The Real Dave is 42, but like so many of my men, he has Peter Pan Syndrome (intense fear of growing up and accepting the ageing process gracefully) perfected to a full time occupation that's maintained by a staff of enablers (me being the biggest) and an audience of goths, anorexics, cutters, emotional and insecure girls (the oldest girl he knows is my self, at 29 but we met when I was 25.) The slightly unsettling majority of women are easily under 24yrs of age and carefully selected from the fields of My Space and Planet Facebook.

Whilst we dated, Dave continued to keep msn relationships that would easily see him spending 7-9 hours of free time on the Internet, talking to these "friends". A few times, I rigged msn settings to record/log conversations and the conversations revealed an entirely different story.

His past marriage dissolved for many reasons, but the Internet certainly allowed Dave to escape

the reality of his newly married status and continue to be playful teenage Dave, and this became a dependency on the identity "davey" and continues all these days later. Dave, despite his best intentions to appear shallow and obsessed with youth, beauty and popularity has revealed more endearing traits throughout the course of both our relationship and less so but still occasionally in our friendship. Dave and I never broke up the normal way, I went Overseas to London and discovered myself again, that I was 28 and was living in the burbs babysitting his

daughter and also addicted to the internet and occasionally abusing Heroin to give my life, some kind of edge. That was back when I thought Heroin was the surest and most pleasurable way to escape the hard questions, ruin it all and give them the forks at the same time. I'm relieved that

I have grown up since returning from London, facing up to Dave and relapsing hard. I'm passionate

about natural highs that energise and create joy rather than escapism, which is not on the agenda right now for me, it's more an exciting time for growth, reflection and advancing. I also think

being awakened has been a process that has taken years to achieve, and to any drug addict, I would give the advice that you need to outgrow the drugs, because they will never outgrow you.

Your nothing special or tortured addict with a unique ordeal or reason to get high, you are just another lost drifter in a long line, that ends in three ways - prison, recovery or death.

Your time spent as an addict will put you at risk of all of the three, but one will choose you.

It's only a matter of time, drugs are all well and good until they run out, and they do this all the time. But anyway, this is about Dave and somehow we got off course, how suprising?!

Yes, I knew Dave and I had a fatally flawed relationship in the first few months. As I admitted before, I was a drifter in search of a kind heart and outstretched hand - a damaged soul and yet a rare find - an addict who knew she could do better and was prepared to do whatever it took to get to that final destination. I'm only just now delivered to that calm place of a clean mind but just as soon as that journey is over, a new journey for the rest of my life has begun. I'm cool with that, heaps excited even. I feel experienced enough to be smarter, wiser and more selfish this time around and not expect any one to save me or set about saving someone else instead of me.

That's what I meant by selfish, as that sentence seems selfish, because my past has always been about proving how strong I am, how much I can help other's in crisis, whilst my teeth rotted from

inside and my liver ate itself away, I was so scared to look inside myself.

Dave is a patron saint, but I do think he relies too much on people who need him, to give him purpose and a sense of self esteem. I outgrew Dave eventually, but he lost interest in my recovery once I was no longer damaged and needy and then froze over when I asked for a boyfriend who holds my hand, tells me about his dreams and goals, kisses me with tounge and so many beautiful things that make love so grand. I doubt Dave has ever experienced those things, but I was willing to teach and I waited and waited. And waited. Eventually, London became a rosier option and not for a moment do I regret boarding the plane and I know I came back with a glow of a woman that had seen the world, felt the universal pulse and from the distance of London I could see just what was in Australia, the old feelings of rejection, frustration and the self hatred I felt for selling my dreams in for the faint hope that a man would one day be able to verbalise a single thought about why he loved me. I often outgrow people on this strange journey in life but I am starting to realise that this is not a rare phonenoma and the world actually IS just an adult size playground, we all have our friends and foes and prized possessions, and some people

make great playmates for a while, but another day comes and you want to take the tyre swing instead of the see-saw. I feel a lot of guilt when I move on from a person, the ideal of collecting friends like a teapot collection I had growing up, is perhaps the only remaining friendship obstacle to overcome. As I've blogged before, this year has seen the departure of some great friends, simply because it couldn't be avoided any longer. It was long overdue, but I have unwavering faith in human kind, I believe when we are grey and wrinkled that we would realise that Mary wasn't as bad as we thought, that your sister turned out to be a mole anyway and that when you divorced the second time, you would have given your left breast to have a friend that was as dedicated as the one you let go because you thought you were 'too young and too fabulous.'

Maybe I am too wise for my own sensibilty, but I suspect that friends get way too serious about being in constant contact in our twenties and then when we are in our late thirties, up to our asses in shitty nappies and bored stupid with inane chat about choosing a highschool for your unborn second baby, still fat from the first, that you may very well wish for a moment to yourself, and maybe that girfriend that seemed too wayward and too inconsistent with you because she was always chasing dreams, well maybe she was still laughing till she cried and maybe someone

just like her had taken up the role that you thought would never be filled by a sane person.

BY the way, this wayward character is of course, yours truly, but wayward is not really an accurate adjective. Yesterday I watched one of my favorite movies, Parenthood, on Cable.

(Little Miss had to be "la la la'd" more than I'd remembered and lucky that her cousin was on hand when the kid with the Vibrator scene came on - without missing a beat he answered enquiring little Miss as to what was so funny, what was It - " An Electrical Ear Cleaner" he declared and to my relief, the television backed up his story. She found this very funny regardless and Cousin and I exchanged a few gleeful chuckles and I shot him a thankful look!)

Not only do I cry whenever I watch a Steve Martin movie, surely a hangover from having a shiteous Dad that never did half the great fatherly things Steve does, but a particular line resonated with me so much, that it worked itself into a conversation with Mr, the following morning.

Now that I've outed my sources, I will repeat my ad hock version that I chirped whilst jumping out naked from the shower, dripping wet and full of wisdom as Mr shaved in preparation for the trek to the Salt Mines. " You see, Life is messy. Prepare to get messed." A thick blob of forgotten shampoo suds dripped down the side of my face, " There are two kinds of people in life, those that ride the rollercoaster of life or those that play safe on the merry go round." I paused for emphasis, jumping back into the shower, " The rollercoaster can be hellish but also can be thrilling too, whilst the Merry Go Round is safe but always the same speed, the same motions and never do you think "This is excitement!" I rinsed the left over suds out of my long hair, this time checking underneath, for the third time (?) and shut off the faucet which gave a loud shuddering noise as usual. I faltered for only a nanosecond as I tried to recall the rest of the dialogue, as I knew that I wanted to say the same point but I was also sure that I'd forget some key part and make a meal of the entire analogy.

Random sidebar - I love using analogies and Mr and I can sometimes keeping adding and adding to an analogy until the references are so obscure, we sometimes forget the original meaning all together and then try to better it with another equally obscure analogy of our own. We like to call this analogy hijack, and yes we are both legally sane. I am sure this is standard behaviour for all couples who try and communicate a point if both parties have vivid imaginations and can visualise being in each other's skin or in this case, I am a feeble lover of rollercoasters, with no job or purpose other than enjoying my fucking rollercoaster. Thank You Very Much!


Drying off with his towel, ever so passionate I declared "Well, even though the rollercoaster makes you tremble, I happen to like it." I smiled defiantly, quite pleased with myself.

Without a beat to spare, Mr breezed past me, already ready before me and retorted

"I like rollercoasters, but you like to rock the rollercoaster, just because you want to see what happens then". Still dripping, my mouth dropped open and I spoke to my mirrored self.

"Shit. He is so totally right. Damn" I muttered.

I turned this statement over and over (all women do this) and concluded that I am a rollercoaster fiend of the highest order. Instead of sitting down and enjoying the corkscrew twists and ludicrous loops, I turn into a chimpanzee (with muscles obviously) and start to voilently rock

the carriage, just to find out how much strain the hinges can take before we go firing off the tracks and wind up with some terrible carnival disfigurement horror story to tell the grandkids.

At the end of the days sometimes I long for the methodical safety of the merry go round. I'm only just getting to the point where I catch my breath and ask myself "What do I want?"

I think my answer will be to live out every second as it happens.

I'm going to take back that wish about the merry go round and perhaps enjoy a new version

of an old favorite. It's time to ride the rollercoaster for what it is, no rocking and rolling

just for the sake of trying to be different, as time is a vehicle and I am the driver.

I wanna savour the ride.

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