In two months, I leave Brisbane for England and will get back to London on October 24th. I don't know where to go when I land; my dad doesn't want me to go to his house even though he has told my mum that I am okay to stay there, and I can't go to my mum's house because of her boyfriend. I have always made a point of not being in places where I'm not wanted; it's why I moved out of my mum's house at 18 in the first place, and I don't want to start doing it now.
I hate being in places where people don't want me around. It's obvious when you are not wanted somewhere, and the awkwardness is stifling. When I was at uni, I moved in with a couple who immediately broke up. My other housemate was away, and I couldn't be in rooms with them because of how they acted around me; they had the secrets that permeated the rooms and made them sticky and uncomfortable. I vaguely remember asking what the problem was, but there was never an answer, and so I hid myself away like I'm doing right now. My aunty Jackie has a dog called Betty who sleeps in a crate. Jackie refers to Betty's crate as her safe space, and that's how I feel. I can shut out the world in here. Be alone. Read my books and watch my shows, and I don't have to worry about anyone not wanting me there. I have a right to be here. My four walls and my bed are my safe space, but I have to leave soon, and I won't have a safe space anymore.
My friend has said I can stay at his Monday through Thursday when I get back to England, which is one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me. He works away during the week and has a spare set of keys, so I'll be able to stay once I get back from Dublin and then again when I get back from Berlin. I have other friends I can stay with here and there to make up the days in between but the first night back is what's scaring me. Dad suggested I stay with someone whom I rarely speak to anymore, and when I do, they say nasty and spiteful things, but Dad would never listen to that. If I told him we weren't friends anymore, he would act like it's my fault. I'm the bad one. I'm the one that people should be thanked for being friends with. I'm the one that's hard work; I'm the one that's wrong. I can never say anything or stand up for myself because I'm the bad one, even though I don't say nasty or spiteful things, but people don't listen when I try to explain this. You can't stay with someone if you can't ask because they don't answer the phone when you call.
There's no question of me not going back. My flights are booked, and even if they weren't, I can't go to New Zealand unless I get my proof of residency from being at home first. From there, I have the money for my flight and my visa, thank-you tax rebate, and once it's approved and booked, I can go. New Zealand will be the first place I move to sober and the first place I move to where I'm not running away from the denial of my alcoholism. Each place I've moved feels like it has fulfilled a different purpose; New Zealand feels like the place for me to clear my head. To take time and space to let go of some of the last parts of my life in England and see how I feel about the future before I decide if it's time to set down roots and if it is, when, where and how. It's a completely different feeling to how I've felt about moving before, but I have an idea in my mind of what I want and what I need, and I'm looking forward to seeing how it pans out. I might want to run away from England even though I'm not there yet, but I'm not running away from myself anymore.
I ended up asking my fairy Glenn mother for a favour, and hopefully I'll be able to stay with him the first night I'm in England. At the very least, there'll be somewhere for me to stay the first night I'm there where people want me around.
Fingers crossed he says yes
xXx
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