I had a magical night with Andrew…
First time we’ve seen each other since we had sex last year. As he stepped out the car he picked me up and we kissed, we were both so happy to see each other and now I am blushing just thinking about it.
We sat in the garden, drinking wine and chatting and laughing. I have never felt so connected to him, we lay in bed for hours after, until 3am this morning staring into each others eyes and chatting.
I love how you guys are always around to catch me when I fall with your elastic waist band 🙂
You fit again, and it’s annoying, I want you to be loose again, please be loose again…
The thing is, that I don’t feel that we belong. We simply don’t fit, we literally ripping holes into each other and overflowing with emotion. However the sad truth is, that when we together we comfort each other and egg each other on to binge and purge and feel the sweet satisfaction of control again…and then we get consumed.
So we are going to sit here now, in the garden with glass of wine and we going to sort out our differences and we going to accept and respect one another and build each other up. We are going to stop judging one another.
Cheers to us. Cheers to the love and respect we are harvesting…
Back to the city. Year starting again.
I feel content.
Drove by my house I shared with my husband and I just smiled…
‘It’s really worrying that you wearing lipstick’ he said while I was explaining to him that I had called the psychiatrists and I would help him go to therapy if he needed.
‘Can we have sex one more time? Just one more time?’ he pleaded and picked me up and put me on the kitchen counter. I pulled him closer and stared deeply into his eyes. Those green eyes I made love to, the eyes that held my heart and a thousand memories. My future was in those eyes. They now looked blank. He hadn’t slept in days since I left, he hadn’t eaten. He was jumpy and agitated and anxious.
We stared into each others eyes and started kissing slowly and then more passionately. Our eyes were closed, he was kissing my neck sending shivers down my spine. I wanted to get lost in him, get lost in us and what we were, but it was gone. It was lost. It was no longer there.
I pulled away.
‘One last time’ and he leaned down kissing my stomach and lowering into me.
‘Come on, I have to go’ I said pulling him up and sliding past him as I jumped off the kitchen counter.
‘Come on, please eat this’ I’d warmed a croissant and put cheese and jam on it for him, his favourite.
I had to leave, I couldn’t stay.
We hugged good bye, I got into my car and I redid my lipstick while he was looking at me from the bay windows in the spare room where I had spent my last night sleeping in our house.
I’m the lucky one. The pretty one. The favourite one.
This is what my ex husband thought of me and my family, I was the lucky one and my sister was the underdog. My brother and I were lucky, we fitted in, we were closer to my parents and we were closer to each other. C was the outcast he said, she was the underdog. Perhaps that is why he was always so fond of her.
It must have been incredibly difficult for my parents raising C and it must of been incredibly difficult for C to grow up in our family. ‘You don’t understand how hard it must have been for her when you came along. You the little princess.’
When I was a teenager I always wanted to be like her. She was thin and she was beautiful. She wasn’t sticking her finger down her throat, she wasn’t cutting herself. She was always incredibly loving, a mother by nature, she was a caretaker. She got married a virgin.
Of course she rebelled, she rebelled the most out of us the three of us children. She was flawed, but she was herself and she was perfect to me. I wanted to be just like her once a upon a time.
She was the lucky one. She was the pretty one. She was the favourite one.
Thats how I saw it when we were growing up. Yes my brother and I are closer. I’m the princess, I am. I’m the firecracker and the risk taker and most say I am the favourite and the pretty one. I’m different and I’m a good listener and liberal and supportive. Does it matter? She’s pretty, she has set values, she’s the most wonderful mother. She is smart and she is driven. She is the one that is filled with love all around. She is happy and she is funny. She is a role model. She is kind and she puts family above all.
It doesn’t matter what we are or who we are. We are sisters. It never was and it never will be a competition. It doesn’t matter.
We are who we are.
We are the lucky ones.
I baked a cheese cake and I had one slice. Not zero slices, and not five slices, just a slice.
I wrote and I read.
It rained on the farm…hope and smiles for the drought to end.
Going back to the city on Monday and looking forward to seeing all my friends and looking forward to seeing Andrew, a lot. Really looking forward. I wonder what it will be like when we see each other.
‘Lets go for a walk’ he said.
‘Ok, do wanna go for a run or a walk, should I put sneakers on?’ I asked.
‘Doesn’t matter, just come’
‘Okay…’ I said awkwardly
We walked down the road and he seemed anxious, I just shrugged it off and I keep walking down the road, holding his hand and chattering on about nothing in particular. He pulled me to the right and we headed towards the dam. The very empty dam where my brother and sister and I played as kids. I stood looking around at the trash on the ground, the bottle tops, shards of glass and old wrappers polluting the area.
‘Danielle, I love you, you are my world and I never ever want to be without you’ he said out of the blue, pulling me closer.
‘I love you’ I said and I smile.
‘Oh my God! What are you doing?’ I exclaimed as he started lowering himself onto one knee.
‘Will you be my wife?’
Naturally I burst into tears, we held each other kissing, our salty tears sliding down our cheeks.
Two years ago.
New years eve.
Tonight I stood in the kitchen in my parents house. My mum holding me in my arms telling me that she is proud of me, that I am going to thrive. The sadness will linger for long and the healing will take time, but I will heal. Tears running down my cheeks, I’m dry heaving from the emotion. I feel nothing yet I feel everything. Eyes blood shot from the crying and I’m exhausted.
But its over. It will linger and the pain will walk with me for a while still.
But I will be found.
Weight gain, biggest I have been in years. Somehow I think its funny, it’s uncomfortable and I feel like a stranger in my own but, but I find it funny. It doesn’t make me sad, it doesn’t make me hate myself and judge myself. I don’t look at myself in the mirror with disgust anymore. I haven’t been restricting and when ED suggests I purge, I don’t, I literally say ‘whats the point?’
When I am comfortable and ready in my body and in my mind, I will focus more on the ideal body I would like and it will be fit and strong and healthy and balanced. That is my ideal body, healthy.