I never expected to be writing my first blog post from Australia. I wanted to write about chasing my dreams, marrying my love and moving to Hawaii. But it seems the universe had other plans. Because now I’m back in Australia. It’s 4am and I’m praying the sun won’t rise. The darkness helps hide how alone I feel. And the sunlight reveals a world I’m struggling to exist in. The only thing worse than this reality are the terrors of my sleeping subconscious. My world is crumbling. My sky is falling. My broken heart aches. In my culmination of twenty-five years I’ve never experienced a pain so blinding and overwhelming. The pain is constant but the panic comes in waves. My breath quickens. I start to tremble. I start to cry. I hold myself because I know the next wave is about to hit. It fills my lungs and I feel like I’m drowning. I would give anything to make this stop. If this is another growth game from the universe it’s the worst and most wicked yet. If this is love, I don’t want it. If this is reality, I don’t want it. If this is life, I don’t want it. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t breath, I can’t think, I can’t talk. So I do what soothes me most… I write. I write the about how my time in Hawaii was the happiest and the most trialling of my life. But magic turned to poison. Paradise turned to prison. When it was good it was good. But when it was bad, it was like a game of tug of war and I never thought I would lose my grip like this.
The morning of my flight home to Australia, I felt his fingertips reach across the ever expanding space between us and gently trace the inside of my palm. I squeezed his hand back in response and immediately I felt his arms wrap around me. He told me it was like waking from a bad dream and begged me not to go. That angel face always came around eventually. But this time it was too little too late. When his lips touched mine I started to cry. I wanted to stay more than anything. But the sting of my still bleeding wrists and blood stained sheets were a reminder that I had to leave. I couldn’t look at him without remembering how little he had made me. The casual cruelty, violent words and empty threats cut me deeper than any knife could. I had given someone the power to break me into a million pieces and they had. It shattered me on a level so profound that I had lost my sense of identity. The darkness I had once worked so hard to overcome, had now well and truly returned.
He kissed me on the forehead, told me he would see me after work and walked out the door. But that was the last time I saw him. I packed my suitcase and left my home on North Shore Oahu. I arrived at Honolulu airport and memories flooded back. Only six months earlier, I was here with all my belongings, my wedding dress, my heart brimming with love and the world at my feet. I waited at gate thirty-four for my flight home to Australia, my head spinning with emotions, confusion and fear. The final call was announced and I suddenly I couldn’t breathe. “Miss I’m sorry you’ve run out of time. If you want to stay, it’s not too late to get your luggage. If you want to leave you need to board now”, the lady at the gate said kindly.
I made one last phone call. “Kristian. I have to go. I don’t… I can’t…” I couldn’t even get out words. The voice wasn’t my voice. It was the voice of a defeated, desperate and broken little girl. In his last effort to make me stay, he responded with perfectly orchestrated words that gave me the courage to leave – “If you leave. If you get on that plane. You will be ever be welcome back here." The fear of abandonment and manipulation in his words rang so loud and true. It was at that exact moment I knew I absolutely had to go. Because I realised I was living a life no longer based on love. It was based on fear. I weighed up my love for myself and my love for him, and this time I chose me. I hung up, took a deep breath and took my first step on the boarding bridge.
It’s now three days since I left Hawaii. If I can put all my emotions into one word, it would be... guilt. Don't get me wrong, there is huge part of me feels like I did the right thing. Because to emanate true compassion towards others, you need to start with yourself. I know that. I had lost all love for myself. I was empty. Our relationship had turned toxic and was corroding my soul. I could write lists of reasons why I had to come home. But I also couldn’t shake this other part of me that feels so much intense guilt for the way I left. Because to him, it was never simply leaving temporarily or geographically. It was ripping open every childhood wound. There is still a big part of me that hopes he will understand why I had to go. And maybe once we conquer ourselves we can work on mending our relationship. But what’s done is done. And it’s a decision I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life. I’m scared for the future, but I can’t get caught up in the could haves, would haves, should haves. All I can do is accept the present, do what I came home to do and start the process of putting myself back together, piece by piece.