The Henry VIII guide: How to get rid of 5 Wives

I received a message last week from my sister, who was quite hysterical as she'd heard that our father was leaving his wife, who is in a nursing home, and had proposed to another woman he'd been having an affair with, using his wife's ring. 

She had found this out after calling our stepmother ( our father's wife), who said he'd been having an affair for a while, and that she needed a lawyer and wanted her ring back.

This is all quite unthinkable for most people, and sound more like a plot from Days of our Lives or some other horrendous soap opera, than real life. Then you take into consideration that our father's current wife is his 5th, and that the ring in question, which he had allegedly proposed to someone else with, was already recycled- having been given to my mother as an anniversary gift (which she subsequently suggested he insert rectally, so to speak, in their divorce). 

In an update to the story, it turns out the current wife had a stroke last week, and is having a lot of delusions, as a result of that and her existent dementia, of which this story is just one. 

But where's the fun in reality? What's more pertinent is that we all found this to be a credible reality, and believed it to be actually happening, as opposed to just being a figment of a decaying, dementia patient's mind. 

About to turn 31, I am beginning to see a smattering of divorces among my friends. At the time they married they were very much in love, and im sure they hoped for and envisioned a lasting future together. These days we think very little of someone having been divorced, and in some ways it's almost endearing: isn't it nice for someone to have been so passionately devoted, even if naively, to want to ignore any flaws in another person and devote themselves to each other.  As humans we make these mistakes, but at some point it's normal to expect that people learn from them and grow or change. 

I was talking to some women at a party recently, who were in their early 50s. There was also a rather suave guy there, pushing 60, but looking great in a suit, a big smile for everyone, and who seemed intelligent and friendly, not arrogant to talk to. The women were single, as he evidently also was, but none of them seemed intersted in  him, despite him having what seemed to me to be some attractive qualities. I asked them why they weren't interested in him, and their response was  simply "He's been divorced TWICE!". 

Interested, I pursued the matter further, and the comments were along the lines of, "doesn't he learn!?" and "there must be something wrong with him!". I didn't tell them about my father, as I've had that awkward shuffling and avoidance of conversation too many times before.

As one of my brothers once pointed out, a 6th wife would make our father like King Henry VIII, although he hadn't rid himself of any by means of beheading. (Not that I'd be sure it had never crossed his mind. )

In one sense, it's actually quite impressive that he has convinced that many people to marry him. As my mother said- he was very romantic when dating, very convincing that he'd been misunderstood by his previous [3 at that stage] wives, and just wanted someone to love.  As it turned out he just wanted someone to love HIM (the concept of loving someone else is irrelevant to a pathological narcissist- everyone loves them in their mind) without question, even if he kicks your children or punches you in the face.

Growing up with this reality gives you a very warped view of relationships, marriage and love. Where everyone who "loves" you, will manipulate, humiliate and abuse you. 

It's interesting when you're also painted as guilty by association- I can't tell you how many boyfriends' parents I've met who clearly disapprove of the family I come from, and push for them to dissociate from me. A child has no choice what family yet are born into, or grow up in.

So what has all of this taught me? I can't tell anyone what is the right thing to do, but I can talk for days about what NOT to do. 

 I approach relationships very cautiously- too cautiously- and have lost several partners through not giving up enough of myself fast enough, but having witnessed such intense manipulation and deception, and the abuse that ensued, trust is not something I develop easily. I would feel safer walking naked through the middle of Kabul holding a placard stating "fuck Allah" than I would to tell a partner I loved them. Even writing is in conceptual form gives me a feeling of tightening in the chest- the beginning of a panic attack. 

I have created a self- fulfilling prophecies: if I reveal too much of my past, be myself, or don't do what they would want, they will reject me. So I hold back to extremes, and they wind up leaving anyway, probably through frustration as much as impatience. Thus reinforcing the belief that no one will ever understand my situation or want to be with me.  Do I recognise my own role in these situations, and kick myself every time it happens? More than you could possbily imagine. 

The Girl With Colitis Goes By

Many comedians would be proud to write an original song lyric like "the girl with colitis goes by" (though, in  way, that event itself would probably also be quite musical). The Beatles hopefully got a good giggle out of one of the oft- misheard song lyrics from Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

"Excuse me while I kiss this guy" is another one that gets bandied about, and tends to arouse a chortle on mention. 

It can also be a way to have fun with people. Two that have been tried around me:
"Tickle ya cunt with a feather?" [and, when people look shocked and generally ask what did they say] "Typical country weather!"

The second was used by a couple of Irish guys in a loud bar: "Would you like to join us for a gang bang?". I guess they weren't so much hoping on it being mistaken for something else, as girls just not understanding, and nodding in agreement to be polite.

One that goes all the way back to primary school is whispering or mouthing "colourful", which looks remarkably like "I love you".

I'm not sure if its my tendency for my mind to roll downhill and wind up in the gutter, warped transmission of signals as they enter my brain, or a hearing defect, but I frequently mishear things. More often than not I think people say something incredibly inappropriate, and have to repress my urge to giggle while trying to tell myself they probably didn't just say that.

Sometimes other factors interfere- once I thought a guy said the 3 words "I love you". I really wasn't sure if I'd heard right, and then thought, if I ask if he just said that, and he didn't, then I've just introduced a whole bag of awkward into the situation. 

I thought of trying to bring it up in a way to mention it, without mentioning it... if that's possible. 

I never got the opportunity though, and then he was gone. So maybe it'll always remain one of those mysteries.

Hollywood vs Real Life

A friend recently recommended a romantic comedy to me named "Love and Other Drugs". I'm not exactly a fan of chick flicks/ romcoms, but it was moderately entertaining. Jake Gyllenhaal's character is a pharmaceutical sales rep (hence why my friend thought I'd like it- as that was one of my many careers too) who falls in love with Anne Hathaway's character- a young artist with Parkinson's disease. 


Synopsis: Boy falls for girl despite her imminent debilitating illness, considers ditching her when having some insight to what the potential future of a wheelchair bound partner in adult nappies is explained to him, but of course (as happens in Hollywood movies) he decides he loves her too much, gives up his career and everything else for love. The end. Awww... 


Anne Hathaway's character does, however, try to warn him many times that getting into a relationship with her would be fraught with complications due to her illness, and this knowledge changed the way she approached things. This got me thinking more about my own situation and possible future.


A few weeks ago I passed the one year mark from when I found out I had a cancerous tumour (See post "Beating the Big C"). Several months and two operations later, an initial screen suggested it hadn't grown back at that point. Although somewhat reassuring, it was also too early to really be able to draw any conclusions about "recovery" from that.


Now, another 6 months down the track, I have another screening coming up to see if the tumour is gone or has returned. This one will be a fairly good indication of whether or not I will be able to at least keep my uterus for a few years and therefore have a chance to have children. The alternative, if it has grown back, is have a hysterectomy, or don't, and let the cancer kill me. 


None of these are particularly appealing options, and the other side of these considerations is what happens with any potential partners.


Even in the best case scenario, that the tumour doesn't regrow, I still carry a high risk Papilloma virus strain which caused it, which could potentially be transferred to a partner and cause penile cancer (although yes, the probability is incredibly low, do you know many men who would put their hand up for that one? In the words of Dennis Leary [although he was referring to cocaine] "Take my penis awaaay!"). This also means that, even though I may be fine for a few more years, it could always eventually grow back.


If I can't have children:
- I wouldn't want to deny anyone the opportunity to have children, if that's something they wanted, by being with me.
- Ironic as it may sound, I'm also not sure I would want to be with someone who didn't want children, even if I couldn't have them. Perhaps it's the presumed lack of empathy there would be in the relationship. 
- Having had a mental illness, and how rare it is in Australia anyway, I will never be eligible to adopt.


If the cancer will develop and make me sick/ die:
- It would be downright deceptive to not tell someone what you know your future will hold, knowing how that would also affect them.
-  How could you possibly expect anyone to sign up to a future with someone that will be short, unpleasant and/or full of illness? I would say its an incredibly selfish expectation, and possibly delusional to believe that you're so wonderful that your personality alone would make up for everything else. 


It's all well and good for Hollywood movies to slather on the cheesy everything-will-be-fine and love-overcomes-everything storylines, but its hardly realistic. I know some people do manage to overcome some incredibly difficult situations/ illnesses, and accept each other exactly as they are, but [especially for those of us who most definitely do not look like Anne Hathaway] I would wager that 99.9% of potential partners would run in the opposite direction at top speed before you could finish the sentence "I'm a barren source of penis-cancer with a slow, painful death in my future".

The L word

I was watching Agony Aunts on ABC iview today (great show) and giggled wildly with familiarity at many of the topics they discussed- one of which was the first time someone uses the L word (that's "Love" for anyone who has been living under a rock so long they aren't familiar with the phrase) in a relationship. Hearing the Aunts' stories got me thinking about my own experiences, few and far between as they have been, with the use of the L word. 


The first time it ever arose was when I was 18. I had been dating a guy for about 2 months, and had spent pretty much every moment together since 3 or 4 days in. I can't actually remember how the L word came up initially, other than it was used a lot from that point, and by both of us. What was more poignant was that it was the reason we broke up a few months later- in his words, because he loved me too much, and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, BUT felt that he hadn't "lived enough" yet. I pretty much took this "living enough" as a spreading the wild oats metaphor, as I knew he'd lost his virginity to me, and according to all reports he then went on to shag around like there was no tomorrow. About 6 months later, he came crawling back and said he wanted to get back together, but by which time all of what had been special between us had dissolved for me with the knowledge that sex and love were concepts for him that he could so easily separate.


The second time I told someone I loved them was really quite awkward, in that the reaction I got was first, "Oh, thank you.... [and then, as an afterthought, with a quizzical tone] I...love you too[?]", which was immediately followed with a feeling of regret hanging in the air. Me- wishing I hadn't gone there when he obviously wasn't on the same page, and him, for saying something he perhaps didn't mean. 


Its a very vulnerable moment, exposing yourself emotionally and hoping the person won't drop punt your heart when you do. Even if they don't mean to- it hurts, not having the feeling reciprocated, and leaves you a little bit more jaded and hesitant each time.


So I told myself after that experience that I should not use such terms so liberally, when I wasn't sure how they were going to be received. So, the third time it came up I waited a considerable amount of time, and started to believe I was never going to hear it- and after I'd been with my partner for about a year, at a very intimate moment I told him I loved him, and he said it back. Only it felt forced and fake. Perhaps I said it just to see what he'd do, or because I wanted to kid myself that the relationship was going well. I really don't know looking back, but at the time it satiated some need. It was then only really used at times of conflict, like after a fight, or as an excuse- I just treated you like crap, but I love you, honey. 


The day I packed my bags and had bought my plane ticket to leave him, he used it again as perhaps a last ditch effort to save the failed relationship. (insert Judith Lucy's voice "I never thought I'd use the corny phrase, but sometimes love just isn't enough"). The relationship had been truly crap for the preceding 6-9 months (see Ye olden days- the Strangling), and I felt bitter towards that use of the L word- as though it was an attempt to manipulate me, and my trust of it eroded a bit right there in that moment.


When I entered my next serious relationship is was with gusto- feelings so overwhelming they blinded my judgement. I really didn't see it coming, falling so fast for someone while still quite raw after coming out of a 2.5 year relationship which had been so punishing. So, when we'd only been dating for about 6 weeks- one night it was hanging in the air, almost tangible, and I could see the words forming on his lips- I stopped him mid sentence: "Don't! Not yet- I'm not ready for that!.". So he didn't. Ever... in the next two and a half years we were together. In my stubborn determination not to be the first one to drop the L bomb again, lest it not be returned, neither did I. 


The next time I heard it I didn't expect it at all. It was a fast, intense relationship which, although enjoyable, I hadn't taken very seriously. So after about a month together he told me he loved me, then, just as quickly, I found out he was engaged to someone else (and had been the entire time- scum bag)!


Since then, I had one relationship in which, although it lasted about 18 months, there was a complete absence of love. Almost a complete absence of sex too. Tip for life- as much as a friendship may seem like a good basis for a relationship, if that's all there is, it isn't going to work. 


I wish there were some greater pearls of wisdom to take from all of this, but I find myself still unsure how I'll face the situation if it ever arises again. Perhaps my bitter, jaded experiences of being hurt will make me try and logic away any such irrational silliness like "love", as it can't be trusted. Or perhaps I'll be able to let myself go, fall into the feeling, and let my sheer and utter terror be carried away with it. 

... than to never have loved at all

What is love?


Not "I love my job", "I love my brother" or "I love my cats"- I'm talking about the romantic kind- being "in love"- a union with a partner, spouse, lover.


There have been several times in my life where I thought that perhaps I was in love. But then time passed, and with the wisdom of hindsight you see how deluded or false it was, and with a few minor realisations, was all gone in an instant.


The older I get, the more I think I really have no understanding on the subject. This mysterious concept that seems so central to what it is to be human.


Moreover, what is it to be loved? Even at times where I thought I loved someone, romantic or otherwise, I felt that I was not loved in return. I have been guilty of using the phrase "if you really loved me, then you would...[or wouldn't...eg go to the strip club on that bucks night]"  but I suppose everyone has a different sense of what those rules and ideals are. It can't be healthy to use ultimatums, and yet who hasn't at some point. Is it the fear of losing love, or the illusion of it we have convinced ourselves of? One person's love is another's hatred or scorn.


Richard Bach said "If you love someone then set them free, if they come back they're yours. If they don't they never were.". The popular incarnation of this quote is "... if they don't come back it was never meant to be" whic is somewhat less harsh than they were never yours. Either way it is an incredibly painful thing, to realise they never were, especially if you still wish for what could have been though it's beyond reach, probably forever.

Perhaps its just the grass is greener effect, that because you never ended the relationship under more "normal" circumstances, with some malice, or falling out of love etc, that you don't have the same closure? Or was it that you horribly misjudged the situation with your heart at the time, and the feelings were never reciprocated? I'd like to think that it was unavoidable, or that if I never had to leave it would have been different, but the truth is I'll never know, and regrets are not something to hold on to.

Religious intolerance and homophobia

I was quite saddened at work the other day to hear a colleague discussing how she had "addressed" the issue of her 9 yr old son witnessing two men kissing in the street some weeks ago.

She had explained that while "we don't agree with what they do, and their choices, it doesn't mean they're bad people". My first question was regarding the "their choices" part- I asked "did you also explain that a lot of Australians (and indeed other countries) do not believe it is a choice at all, but how they are born, and part of a range of normal human existence?"

Her response "yes, well there is that, but it's not what our church teaches".

Me- "and you realise it's not what all churches believe or teach."

There is such an incredbile shame in any culture, religious or geographical, which encourages prejudice and indoctrinates youth to carry that discrimination in their hearts and minds. I would argue that an equally valid approach for such an institution to take would be teaching from the perspective that "God made us all in his image, a variety to express all the things he couldn't encapsulate in one being, but beautiful and loved equally.". Even the simple "what do you think?" would encourage free thinking individuals to come to their own conclusions, which if your ideology is the "correct" one, they will most probably align with.

What is it that they fear? Is it that they think everyone not marched into an orderly conformist queue, without which all will decide to go out and root someone of their own gender? Believe me, despite being athiest and experimenting some in my university days and early 20s, the lack of a religious based institution or the fear of "God's wrath" did not make me magically choose to be a lesbian- indeed I turned out 95% straight. Why 95%? I subscribe to the Kinseyan school of thought that everyone exists on a plane from 100% hetero to 100% homo- sexual and not bisexual as a 50-50%, but every distribution in between.

The world has enough fear and hatred already to put bounds on what love can comprise, and yes I do mean love, not lust, not an "i luv u" between teenage friends, passion or fleeting enamourment.

Quote of the day- Richard Bach

 The worst lies are the lies we tell ourselves. We live in denial of what we do, even what we think. We do this because we're afraid. We fear we will not find love, and when we find it we fear we'll lose it. We fear that if we do not have love we will be unhappy.

-Richard Bach

Seems some concepts are timeless and universal.

RIP Blossom 1991-2011.

Its funny the way animals burrow their way into your hearts, with all their quirks and neurotic behaviours.

We got Blossom as an adult cat, so I'm not sure when her exact date of birth is, but I'd guess she was 1-2 yrs old in 1993 when she joined us. We went to the Cat Haven in Perth looking for a kitten, but were so overwhelmed with this funny looking skinny cat who was so incredibly affectionate and wanted nothing but cuddles, that we ended up taking her home instead.

About a week later, she came down with the cat flu, probably something she'd picked up just before leaving the Cat Haven, and was a sneeze a minute. Although she'd only been with us a few days, in true cat fashion she'd already taken to sleeping under the covers in my bed. I remember reading a book in bed, with Blossom tucked up under my knees in the bed-cat-cave, and having a sneezing fit- all over the back of my bare thighs (I was wearing a nighty). Sprays of freezing cold cat snot on my bare flesh were rather alarming to say the least, but these things are forgiven, as you would a sick child.

Bloss' favourite thing was smelly shoes- the stinkier the better. In fact if they were of the variety that could empty a room and have everyone yelling that they should be left outside, they were just about ripe enough for her to bury her head in, lick, nibble, roll on and fall asleep in. Neurotic? Yes. Slightly disgusting? Yes.
The reilient old beast went through many moves with me- from Perth to Sydney, to Brisbane (and howled for 6 of the 10 hours of the drive, the final 4 I let her out of the cage to sit on my lap and she was perfectly happy!) and finally to Hobart. When I moved to Canberra she moved in with my Mum and grandmother to live out her senior years in a "retirement" home. She would get pushed around the garden on my grandmother's walking frame, or stagger along side- their arthritic gaits making them a funny pair to watch. Of an evening she would howl until the fire was lit for her, and be fed tiny slithers of fresh steak on the hearth- slightly spoiled is putting it lightly.

In her final days she grew weak and stopped eating. On the last night she couldn't walk any more, and was tucked up in front of the fire on her sheep skin rug until with a few laboured breaths it was the end. A quiet and peaceful end at the age of 20 years, but still the tears stream down my face.

To my Blossom- You will be missed, gorgeous girl. xxx