When I Least Expected It

You know, my life is just getting better and better. Well, everything except the missing YMK part.

There was a time, not so long ago, when I would be afraid to hope for anything, afraid to want anything too much, because my life was filled with disappointments of all kinds. I had to learn to not hope, not expect anything, yet this in itself, as some of you will know, is easier said than done.

No, when I say my life is getting better, I mean that I am getting better. It’s like all that frustration and bitterness has dissipated.

The last few days have been surreal. I’ve been at home, here at my mothers. I’ve been sleeping a lot. It’s actually as though a wave of exhaustion and tension I’ve been holding in has just let go, and my body just wants to sleep.

However, there’s also a part of me that is feeling as though this is a dream and I am going to wake up.

Let me tell you why. My mother has survived a catharsis. She has begun to actively deal with some bullshit that’s been going on with my family, dealing with issues she’s ignored for decades.

She has in fact, found it in her to apologise (yes, you saw it right) to me for much of the mental and emotional torture she put me through when I was younger; hell shit she’s done to me within the last few years.

She has in fact, begun to heal from decades of abuse her family heaped on her, and well, I can see already that her relationship with me is certainly a partial beneficiary.

These last few days, she and I have talked, we have discussed things on a deeper level, and for the first time in years, hell for the first time ever, my mother has begun to heal!!

She tells me I raised her. That if it wasn’t for me, she would never have gotten through. She’s apolgised to me for abandoning me repeatedly, admitted culpability for the shit she did when I was young.

It’s weird, when I least expected her to wake up and see things, to act on her and our behalf; when I had given up on her ever getting to a whole and complete state, here she is walking in that direction.

I think I’ll have to examine this phenomenon on it’s on, but for the purpose of this post, let’s just admit it, I am more than pleasantly surprised.

After all these years of contention, to find her healing is probably the best thing I could have imagined or wished for, but up to six months ago I wasn’t too sure she was going in that direction at all.

It’s just validating.

—–
Mummy and I went to get my ticket on Friday. I have it. My passport is stamped, my good friend monilove has agreed to let me stay with her. My cousin (English and now living in Barbados) came by and she’s told me she left some coats and stuff at her mother’s house that I can get. So I won’t freeze (I’ve been warned about English summers) at least not for the first few months.

I still don’t have no big set of money. I’m a little worried, because it means I’ll have to start looking for work as soon as I get up there, but I’ll manage for a month or two if I am very, very, VERY careful.

My mother is helping me. She bought half of my ticket and she’s paying me back for a ticket I bought for my brother to come up to Barbados as well as my stereo which he took off of me when I was leaving Trinidad.

He self came up to Bim on Friday afternoon.

:sigh: We got into a fight this morning. Old resentments and stupid shit flaring up. After a year, he’s still bringing up that I wrote some shit in my blog, venting about our relationship etc.. I mean, must I continually be held to ransom because he doesn’t like me to write about my life and the way he effects it.

My mother tells me I should stop writing about my family. It’s like this kind of bone of contention we’ve always had the three of us. To be honest I write about them fairly infrequently. However, why is it that I am not allowed to express my opinion? Why is it that must muzzle my voice so everybody can feel comfortable?

I suppose this is why people say you ought not to piss off writers. The first thing we will do, is put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard and express our ideas and thoughts about whatever it is that’s happening. Why is it I must make peace with other people’s behaviour, but they can’t make peace with my coping mechanisms. FUCK!

Okay, I’m not really pissed off any more. Certainly, I told Mummy I will never stop writing about my life and all the ways in which thing effect me. I told her to get used to it.

—–

Yesterday afternoon, my mother and I were sitting in her bedroom talking and I heard a knock on the door and someone calling out hello.

So up I get, go and answer the door and who should I see but my friend D.

D used to live in Barbados. She’s an American chick that used to live across the street from my mother’s house, and a couple of years ago when I was renting my apartment in Oxnards, and walking down to my mother’s house where my office was, she’d see me passing by. I never knew she noticed me going back and forth.

One night, it must have been after 10pm, she stopped next to me in her car and asked me if I needed a lift.

I know in America people would freak out when they hear about people doing things like this, but this is Bim and you know, nobody really steals anyone around here. Where would they go? Barbados is so flicking small.

Anyway, I got in and she dropped me home and we became fast friends. As they say in the Caribbean, my blood just took her.

Now a few months before I left to go live in Trinidad, she went back to live in Washington DC. In fact, she was a big help to me in getting my laptop (the one I type on and almost this entire blog’s content and design has been developed on) and she and I have been in contact over the last two years. She is also one of this blog’s regular readers she tells me.

So ya girl nearly fell through the floor when she turned up on my door yesterday.

I grabbed her and hugged her and kissed her, screaming in happiness right through. She said she knew from reading my blog I was going to be around in Bim, so she let her friend talk her into coming down for the weekend.

I pulled her in the house and she and her friend A came in and we got a few minutes to chat. She didn’t stay too long, but it was just marvellous to see her. She was the last person I expected to see, so it was the best kind of surprise.

She also brought me Introducing the Hardline According To….” by Terence Trent D’Arby, Become You by the Indigo Girls and Busted Stuff by Dave Matthews Band. She’s such a sweetie, I had sent her a list of stuff I wanted two years ago and she had bought them and been holding onto them ever since.

I have to tell ya, I have been really lucky in my friends.

—–

Yesterday morning I talked to YMK on the phone.

Earlier in the week, I was freaking out and called him to tell him again, “You know no matter what happens, I’m really glad to have had the last six months to get to know you.”

“Baby,” he replied, “You don’t have to convince me of anything.”

He’d told me this before.

“I’m coming to England.”

Yesterday, he told me, “So yesterday (meaning Friday) I got up and as I was sitting there, drinking my tea and smoking, all I kept saying to myself is that something was missing and it was you.”

We talked a bit about things but we couldn’t stay long talking.

He told me he missed me terribly and told me not to worry, he was feeling all the things I was feeling.

“You mean more to me than I’m really saying, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m an emotional guy, I just don’t show it,” he went on.

I told him my mother was trying to get me to come down to Barbados for Christmas. He suggested he might work and get the money to come across and meet me here.

So I don’t know if it will happen, but it’s certainly something to think about, to work towards as a possibility.

I just know that this week I drowned my sorrow and loneliness in chocolate. I couldn’t have my sweet chocolate man, but I ate a whole set of Cadbury’s chocolate (my fave) and I also blame PMS for my tears last week, and for the spastic chocolate consumption.

Ah fuck it. I’m missing my baby. I’m missing him bad.

However, I don’t for a minute feel as though the door is closed to us. From where I am sitting, the door just keeps opening up wider and wider.

Liked it? Take a second to join The Backroom Collective!
Just $1 a month can help us create safe spaces for women.

Comments

thegoddessroom

The Vault

sungoddess

mermaid, dayo's mama, water priestess, writer, web developer, omo yemoja, dos aguas, obsessive reader, sci-fi fan, trini-bajan, combermerian, second life, music, music, music!