I have spent a large amount of my adult life waiting for it to actually begin. Admittedly I spent the first few years a little bit drunken and a little bit party party but that’s beside the point. It’s been as though I have not been present where I should have been. I’ve been watching my life pass me by because i have been soooooooooooo fucking disconnected that I’ve forgotten myself. I’ve forgotten who i am and what i look like despite the fact everyone else can see me, and most of them think im pretty bloody great.
It’s something like when you watch that cute girl at the shops while people watching and eating a burger and you have people watched them so much as they pass back and forth with more and more shopping that you feel like you know them but you actually don’t even know their name but know that their undies are way too tight and her bra doesn’t fit her boobies right. I’ve felt like that, awkward, cute and my undies are on occasion that little bit too tight (thanks to Bonds ridiculous sizings.) I’ve been watching myself through the Arch window in play school. (Note to self: must go do more people watching).
Around 1993 the amazing year of releases such as ‘What’s eating gilbert grape’ and the most impressive ‘Jurassic Park’, we lived on this beautiful huge old property, another one with high ceilings and bay windows and snakes. We had 2 cubby house’s up in 2 different trees, we had old outdoor cellars that were almost falling down and not to be played in, and tree swings in the front yard it is also the host to memories my brother holds dear; of that time my mum threw a water balloon at my him (we shall name him ‘Skater kid’) and he fell out of the tree house.
Down the bottom of the paddock was a water tank, next to that tank we used to play, it was next to a yellow wattle tree that i adored for its little fluffy yellow puffs, it’s where the fairies played, where we played, where i would tie my imaginary pony when we were done riding. I can see it so clear in my mind, but i can not connect myself to that, a vivid memory that doesn’t feel like mine. People watching but with Memories.
Birdy loved storms, she still does. One afternoon we sat in the lounge room watching the storm roll over the ocean to us, racing to swallow us in. I sat with Birdy, a baby Chops and Skater kid, in the warm fire lit lounge room watching through the bay window waiting for the next thunder clap, we counted, we giggled, predicted and listened in awe of those thunder claps. The lightning began and struck a paddock or tree out the front of our house lighting it on fire. I watched on so amazed that it had caught fire, and despite the storm the fire raged on like a toddler in the toy section at Kmart. Except the fire was heaps quieter and much more beautiful.
I remember being watched in that house, I hopped out of the shower and made my way to my room, I was freezing because it was winter and my bedroom window had gaps in between the old wooden frame threatening to fall out at any moment, I looked out the window mid change and saw him, standing, watching, seeming to be unphased that I had seen him there, it was just dark and his frizzy haired silhouette stood out like dog’s balls on your face in bed on a sunday morning. The Villain gave zero fucks that i knew he was there. I will never ever understand what he saw in that small scrawny flat chested child. I mean, i was cute…. but not that cute. He did his very own people watching. How much has he ‘watched’ in his 60 what ever-old-man years. How many children have been touched by his thick-rough-calloused-bass player fingertips, how many more times will children hear his knee clicks and see his blue and too short dressing gown as a sign of impending doom. When is that warranted as enough. Enough is enough buddy. I mean… we ain’t no candy store and besides; no one likes the black cat lollies and all us kids are black aniseed cat lollies. NO ONE fucking likes those.
I have come to a point where I am aware I’ve been watching myself this whole time, and Im done watching. I want action, I want pain and happiness, I want the emotion and I want to own it as all mine. No matter how painful it might be, this stuff, it happened to me, it happened to little fairy-pants-magee me, that tiny little blonde fairy obsessed girl that had so much potential till it was crushed when the abuse began and then continued.
I’m currently weaning off my Anti depressants so i can be more here, I’m joining a group fitness class, I’ll stop crying about mess and chaos because my life is and always has been that way and It’ll keep on happening whether I’m present in it or not. I’m so done with being a watcher. I want to be in it. Right in the middle, spinning around in a pretty floral 60s cut dress with my hair shining with mud on my feet embracing all the little pleasures and catastrophes that come along to punch me in the ovaries.
So much has changed since beginning this journey, I am genuinely becoming me inside. Imagine inside your body, imagine it doesn’t feel like yours that inside is black with shame, pain and guilt, but then one day you see it, this sparkle through the black, just a tiny scratch, but you know one day it’ll be all scratched away like those scratch arts you did in school, you just can not help but to scratch away that black paint to reveal the beautiful colours you have had there all along. It’s as exciting as getting a puppy surprise for christmas and only getting 3 puppies, then watching your cousin get a black one with 6 puppies and being a little bit sad that you only have 3 but yours are heaps cuter. THAT is exciting.
I’ve watched long enough and I’ve been struck and my fire has been lit and no amount of storm or downpour will put it out.