Even though, in my hand I held a $200 food voucher which meant I could eat, the fact that I’d gotten this low, was really too much to bear.
It had been a rough twelve months. Losing my dad like I did, unexpectedly, and without that chance to say goodbye, really did a job on me. I’d never experienced losing someone close before, and the fact that he was only 54, had really shaken me up.
See, my dad was the only person I had in my life that I could look up to. Well, at least that’s what I thought at the time.
I came from a very abusive family, and even though I had a “relationship” with my mother and one of my two sisters, it wasn’t happy or healthy.
My dad on the other hand, despite his violent temper, was different. When he wasn’t losing it, he was quieter and was really what I considered the “peace keeper” in the family. That’s why losing him was like WWIII breaking out.
Over the next few months, I did my best to be the model daughter. I called my mother every day to check in with her, and did the best I could to deal with my grief. I didn’t do very well.
I was married to a very unsupportive and quite abusive man. He didn’t understand the grief I felt and was of no assistance in my healing. In fact, he did not allow me to grieve at all, so I bottled it all up inside of me.
Then Easter came, and the family blew apart. My mother had been secretly winding each one of us up. Secretly planting ideas and stories in our heads.
Then my mother organised a “working bee” so she could put us all in the same circus ring at the same time and watch the show. I bet you can guess what happened right?
I received a letter from my sister a few days later, cutting me off from her, and her children completely and for the first time in my life, I felt completely alone.
Then I met him. It was an online friendship to start with. A bit of fun. He was much older than I was, close to my father’s age.
He lived on the other side of the world to me, but was always there for me. We’d spend hours talking online. There was nothing I couldn’t tell him, and it was always exciting and fun.
My husband and I started a business at the same time. It meant working 18 hours a day in our day jobs as well as running the business for half the night. I built the business from $2000 income a month to $8000 a month, so I could quit my secure corporate job.
For the next six months, I worked hard in the business, even though I did not enjoy the work. It was a commercial cleaning franchise, and cleaning men’s urinals at 2am did not thrill me. My husband refused to let me focus on just building the business up, where I clearly shone.
Christmas came and went. We did our first Christmas totally alone, just my unsupportive husband and I.
I was still talking to my friend online, every day, and over time, I fell head over heels in love with him. He said he felt the same way.
Things developed. I was still cleaning toilets at 2am, my husband was even more unsupportive and refusing to let me grieve. My family was still completely estranged, and one by one friends starting dropping by the wayside. It was all too much for many of them to deal with. I was in a huge hole of distress and despair, and the only shining light was my Canadian.
That’s when my husband decided it was time to walk out. This happened one Sunday, but it wasn’t out of the blue. I told him it was over, that I couldn’t go on, and suggested sleeping on the couch for a bit till we could sort the business out. He chose to leave that day.
What he did when he walked though was totally destroy the business we had. By taking my only form of transport, he made it impossible for me to continue with the contracts, and I lost the lot within 48 hours. He also gutted the bank account, so I had no money to recoup.
I did however, have furniture, and some of his stuff he’d left behind to sell, and I raised just enough to buy a ticket to Canada.
Our affair lasted two weeks. It was wonderful and awful and beautiful and painful all at the same time. Especially when I discovered his wife in the background.
Only two weeks later as he put me on the bus to the airport, tears streaming down my face, and he said.. “We’ll see each other again.” That was the last time I ever saw him.
Fast forward to the beginning of the story, and here I am. I arrived back in Australia, and managed to scrounge enough stuff together to move into a flat. That was it though, I didn’t have another cent to my name. I’d lost everything and everyone who meant anything to me, and I’d never felt more alone.
That’s how I ended up in this spot. Standing there. Watching as the cars came closer and closer. Not moving. Horns starting to BLARE! Could this really be the end to my story?