I’m writing to find an outlet for my thoughts and feelings. You don’t have to read it, you probably wouldn’t want to, so don’t, I really don’t care at this point.
It’s hard to write this, but as time goes on, I feel I need to pour out these things before I implode and do something I’ll regret
It all started with a long-ago boyfriend, wait, maybe it was after that – that’s right, my first real job after Uni, really that’s where I first realised that my hitherto unrealised and growing feminism had a real justification. Working in a notoriously male dominated industry, and way overqualified for the job. Going along with horribly sexist jokes, watching revolting sexist exploitative behaviour without speaking – it kind of wears you down until you think it’s normal
No responsibility, despite my freshly minted Uni degree and a not insignificant talent with words and pulblicity, just relegated to the role of admin, at the beck and call of 3 business partners (the inferiority complex grows) – all male. They were all completely unevolved to the point of caricature, it was the 80’s, living in a world where they could dominate and win victories over others – all the while claiming to represent their clients’ best interests. You know who I’m talking about. Free cocaine and speed at the ready – left over groupies or record company receptionists eager to be one step away from rock stars. Living in the shadow of their famous clients ( who were often just as bad mind you) claiming responsibility for other people’s talent and hard work.
Wives and girlfriends were relegated to onlooker and mother status – put up with it or leave – I was a sucker though, too young to stand up for myself or even realise how toxic the whole thing was for young women. Yes, I was taken in by the whole rock star thing too – wanted to be a part of it, felt superior because I was actually employed in the industry.
Don’t get me wrong – you know I love music, especially when it’s raw and live and loud. I still do and I did then,
Is this the beginning of my lack of confidence and my self doubt?
OK – we can go back further – I was attractive as teenager, I had big boobs and a toned body, a boyfriend’s mother once called me a ‘sex kitten’. Forget the fact that I didn’t actually have sex until I was 17, and then with my first real love, rumours abounded as teenage boys claimed to have ‘done it’ with me. One such boy, who spread his lies far and wide, popped up years later in the capacity of one of my late husband’s clients. I couldn’t even look at him, I just wanted to pick up the nearest object and smash it into his puffy red face – the first inkling that I might be carrying a lot of suppressed baggage?
Yeah Stephen Sales, I’m talking about you – do you realise how damaging your little play for attention and kudos from your mates was? Probably not eh? You cunt
The other girls/young women didn’t help, judgy little bitches, they were happy to spread the gossip and rumours – my ‘friend’ group were competitive about appearance, clothes and money, boyfriends – with well-off families. Thanks Mun and Dad – I know you meant well, and I love you, but I’d rather have gone to a public school. Yeah thanks ‘ladies’ for instilling in me a feeling of inferiority and of being always an outsider.
That’s the beginning?
Strangely I’m still kind of friends with them, I can’t bring myself to fully break away from the group, I still feel like an outsider. A couple of them I could even count as good friends now – weirdly – but they were always OK.
I did become rather promiscuous in my 20’s – I felt liberated and like I was in control – I really enjoyed sex and I enjoyed wielding a certain amount of power over men. It wasn’t until I accidentally slept with a co-worker’s boyfriend that I realised I probably wasn’t living in the healthiest way possible. I also realised that once again, I was being judged. But geez it was fun, so much fun to be free, take as many drugs as I wanted to, and at last happy in my own body, people don’t seem to understand that, people my age.
People in the next generation seem to get It though, well my son’s friends do. But again, I realised, it wasn’t an equal match. I was looking for mental as well as physical stimulation, I only ever got the physical.
I’ve never succumbed to moral judgement (or have I), drugs, sex, sexuality – it’s all open as far as I’m concerned. Wrong, my morality revolves around kindness and respect and doing no harm to others. Am I wrong to feel this is a rapidly declining form of morality?
What times we live in!
So the subject I’ve been skirting around, not wanting to unpack baggage that I’ve kept locked.
My marriage
It was love at first sight, I’ll admit, and things progressed quickly. Despite the warning signs of too much drinking and too much childhood trauma – I was too naïve to recognise the danger. Cocky me thought I could ‘fix’ him, silly me ignored the fact that his mother was a narcissist and he’d spent his life institutionalised. Anyway, I was drinking and partying myself, as were we all, so it seemed ‘normal’
So I brought hm home to Australia, yeah, I removed him from any support he had there (friends) and brought him here where only I was the support. Was this narcissistic of me? Or did I genuinely think it would change him? He was charming and amusing, and at first we had a wide friend circle. Gradually as his drinking became worse, the circle shrank. Nobody wants a drunk dinner guest right?
I reacted my constraining my social life or leaving him out of it entirely.
I began to exercise control – yes – I admit it. I tried to get him to go to psychologists, psychiatrists, counsellors. It just got worse, he would drink until he couldn’t stand up and then rant and rave at me abusively, sometimes all night.
I controlled his access to money – the resentment grew. I left him out of any social activities I had left – the resentment grew stronger
I tried to throw him out – but I couldn’t – I knew he was somewhere the kind and funny man I’d first met, and hey, he never hurt me physically. He had no friends here, and he didn’t really make any of his own. The social group we mixed in, mainly primary school parents, offered no help or advice, they simply stopped inviting us places. There was one couple in particular who held themselves up to be some kind of life advisors, counsellors, whatever. Yet when I asked for support none was forthcoming, more a judgemental attitude if anything.
I began to feel more and more isolated – no – he neve stopped me doing anything, he supported my Masters studies and work, he earned a good living and together we ran a thriving freelance photography business. He never stopped working right up until he became too ill and wracked by pain from his cancer. We travelled together well, we worked together well, we lived together well except when he was drunk.