empty rooms that echo as I climb the stairs

Last week my grandfather died. We had the funeral yesterday, and it was - as these things go - fairly bearable. He was 90, and had "a good innings" as they say. Was rarely ill, and widely loved, and will be missed. After the funeral we went back to what was his and my grandmother's house for a few beers (which he would have approved of!) and made a circle around what was always "his" chair. No-one wanted to sit there, but eventually the size of the crowd and the age of most of those attending, meant that seats were at a premium and one or another of us sat there for the rest of the afternoon. It's weird, but I think a lot of older folk, especially grandads, have "their" chair.

My family is a bit of a divorce/separation/abandonment minefield. Both my stepdad and his brother have been divorced and remarried (the latter four times). There are kids, stepkids and halfsies. Though I considered him my grandfather, and called him Grandpa for almost 35 years, we weren't blood related. He's my stepfather's Dad. My stepfather came to live with us when I was 4/5 and never left, eventually marrying my mum in 1994. To do this, my stepdad left his own two children (a boy and a girl, the same ages as me and my younger brother). My father ended up moving in with my stepdad's ex and there was a few years of "Wife Swap" going on for real...ugh...I feel tacky and 70s-influenced just thinking about it. Anyhow, I raise the topic because it's relevant to what went on yesterday. My stepdad has only seen his son Rob a couple of times in his life, last time being 25-odd years ago, although he has (and the rest of us have too) re-established a fairly nice relationship with his daughter. Rob could not forgive as easily as his sister, I guess, which is reminiscent of my own brother who has never seen our father since his abandonment.

Yesterday, Rob showed up at the funeral, having caught a three hour flight. He recently made contact with my grandparents, closing the gap that had existed for so many years - I think having his own two kids had made him sentimental perhaps and wonder about his grandparents. But he still hadn't seen my stepdad - until yesterday. It was a massive, major shock to see him. I thought my stepdad was going to faint (literally). He said to me it was more shocking and upsetting than his father passing away. But in the end, it turned out brilliantly. We all hung out with Rob and he chatted with everyone. I commend him for turning up like that, coming into a potentially hostile (or at the least uncomfortable) atmosphere. Really great bloke, who I like a lot. I hope we get to stay in touch more now that he's made the effort to heal our family's rift. I wondered if my brother started to get ideas about his own father... though he knows that I've given up on that relationship.

It really got me thinking about how rarely I saw my grandpa, but how easy it was to love him, and how little I see of my nanna (Mum's mother) now she lives in a nursing home. About how guilty I feel regarding that, and how I plan/hope to change it. About how much family creates and affects us, and how much time we spend trying to run away from it. And about that fact that, sometimes, blood means as much as years you've spent together.

Post title from Don McLean's Empty Chairs.

All The More A Pair Of Underwater Pearls

I'm continuing my recent trend of using favourite song lyrics for my blog titles, so forgive any obscurity! This last week has been perplexing and a challenge (not the least because I'm now 39 and feeling I am approaching that gray area known as "middle age", but I digress...). I spent the weekend at a fantastic seminar by a man called Ian Gawler, who survived a terminal cancer diagnosis over 30 years ago and now teaches meditation, healing and general wellbeing. The two day workshop was one of my birthday presents, from my parents (who both attended as well), and although it was exhausting to be out of the house and listening/concentrating for two full days, it was definitely worth the effort. The Saturday was completely devoted to meditation techniques and sessions - generally I only get around to meditating once or twice a week, but I'm determined to make it a daily practice. That's the way to get the most benefit, especially for someone in therapy and managing a mental illness. One of the things that struck me the most about the weekend was Ian saying that the idea of meditation can become a source of stress and anxiety (ie: "I really have to meditate, why can't I meditate better, why can't I concentrate", etc, etc). He suggests to find a method that works and do it in a comfortable way for just a short period of time until it becomes second nature, then increasing time spent in meditation and the style of meditation. I've always been particularly successful at guided meditation, and I found out that is probably due to my learning style (Auditory). My mum, on the other hand, finds she needs a visual focus otherwise she is distracted from the guiding voice by pictures appearing in her mind. Interesting stuff. I can't deny that meditation and relaxation techniques have helped with my recovery.

One of the weird things about my birthday is that I received a text message, and presents, from someone I mentioned in an earlier post. I hadn't heard from this friend for about 8 months, since I spent thousands of dollars on visiting her for her 30th birthday, so I had kind of assumed we were no longer sympatico. Of course, I hadn't had the chance or opportunity or desire to share with her the details of my breakdown in Dec-Jan. In my cracked BPD way I had assumed she hated me, and didn't care that I was crumbling, when in fact it seems she was imagining I was just busy and having a great life (and was therefore out of touch with her). It did my head in somewhat...to have this person and these feelings pop back into my life when it sometimes seems like that was a totally different Lil. The presents, the contact...they struck me as slightly "off", like they belonged to someone I used to be. There's no question that I have changed mightily, and necessarily. I am probably less fun, less apt to smile and indulge in banter. But I think I am a more whole person now, if that makes sense. I finally feel like I am working towards "real", after a lifetime of experiencing that horrifying Borderline "who the fuck am I?" emptiness. I hope that writing to my friend H, and updating her on all the ways in which the last 8 months have in fact been the antithesis of happy and busy, will enable us to move our friendship to a new level. It's worth a try, because as strange as it was to have her contact me, it also feels like the right thing. Now I've got used to the idea!

At work, things are going well. My boss took me aside last week (on my birthday actually) and asked if I was interested in more hours. It happens to me every time. I intend to work part-time, and then get sucked into the love-to-show-off, flattery vortex of being needed and agree to more hours, get more money, and then get tired and depressed and strung out. Not this time. I told her I would consider working every second Monday, which is a compromise that suited us both. Also, she tells me I will be getting a payrise next month because they think I am far-exceeding their expectations and in general doing a kick-ass job. Yay for me! I was relieved, because you just never know what people are thinking. I felt good about my standard of work, but it's nice that the boss confirmed it. I still love going there, and am gradually getting to be friends with one of the girls and am opening up a little to the other staff. It's an effort sometimes to be New Lil, though, because the quasi-comfortable craziness of Borderline Lil is still close to the surface.

This is a long and winding post. I have been tired and overwhelmed by life and learning and have been too long away from my dearheart bloggers. My apologies! I am slowly catching up on all the goings-on in blogworld over the last week.

Sleeping Sickness

The last few days have passed in a blur. A lot of napping, which always makes me worried that I am slipping back into the damn hole that Black Dog keeps digging. I also tend to sleep as a way to avoid my two family members who are home during the day -- I get even more morose when I have to sit and listen to my grandmother complain about things she has seen on television, or about the fact that she has developed light freckling on her arms (she is 90 years old). My shrink reckons Nanna sounds like a classic Narcissist, or Person of The Lie as M Scott Peck described. It has taken me 38 years to realise that just because a person is elderly, white haired and knits does not make them a jolly, benign cartoon-style grandmother. My mother is the nut she is because she was raised by my even nuttier Nanna in an atmosphere that was at best ignorant, at worst truly evil. And I cut Mom some slack because of that... My mom knows no better, she mostly did her half-hearted best to raise me and the fact that I was party raised by my grandmother (while my mom worked), well... I don't think Mom had realised then just how damaging my grandmother is/was. I feel so guilty even criticising my grandmother here in my journal. But sometimes I am so angry with her and so bitter that I have to fight not to put a pillow over her head (or throw myself off the nearest building). She is perpetually complaining, criticising, ungrateful of the fact that we do EVERYTHING for her from make her tea to do her laundry, even though she is not physically disabled in the slightest. She is just lazy and used to having everything done for her. I know, I know, she's 90 years old and probably deserves some respect, but wow it is HARD to give her any. I think that respect needs to be earned, and I don't know if I can forgive her for putting my Mom (and then me) in harm's way. Jeez. Living with her is THE WORST place for me to be. I know. It's definitely contributed to the most recent mental issues I'm having. I've made a deal with Dr A that I will work towards moving out into my own place within the next 6 months.

I suppose that gives me some incentive to return to work, as disability won't cover rent and bills if I'm living alone. I had to deal with our government social security/welfare agency this week, as my leave entitlements from work are finally used up. It's a long time since I had to deal with welfare, and the recent economic downturn has meant an increase in the number of people applying for benefits and therefore the amount of time it takes to be dealt with. I got to the agency at 7:30am, knowing that the line would build up before opening time of 8am. By the time the doors opened there were 40-50 people already waiting in line. I finally left the agency just after 9am. The amount of money I will qualify for is about a quarter of what I would usually earn, so it won't cover my living expenses (hence, I am stuck living with my family for the next while). Sometimes I wonder if I would have been better off staying married... a different set of issues there I suppose. There is so much I need to learn about myself and how to deal with life, it's exhausting to the point of being incapacitating.