Sometimes we imagine it, and sometimes we don't

I'm talking about pain. Internal, emotional pain, and physical pain.
let's clarify something I was hoping I wouldn't have to say.
Paul. as many great stories as we have. The memories of playing in the pool, making monster movies, fake FBI badges, Zuchini dragons and ski-ing prawns, he was a monster.
There are so many other untold stories of nights drinking, empty bottles of beer and Ouzo. Screaming and shouting, fighting, punching, hair pulling, crying, falling, pain.

The things shown in movies, the horrors of drunken abusive families. And I could do nothing. I was small weak, unable to defend my mother from being hurt.
This was pain, real pain of both kinds. Burning striking pain of being knocked down for nothing more than going to bed. When told to.

And the emotional searing pain of being mocked, tormented and teased.
He was an alcoholic, a violent man, and possibly a sociopath. It was not a good time in life. But like many people we stayed. There was seemingly no other choice, and it's not to be dwelled on. I am not defined by these awful memories. I am strengthened by them.

My courage, my desire to love, to look after those around me grew from those moments.
He was not a man. He was an adult, and he should have been ashamed of it all. But he wasn't, he was probably unaware he had done anything wrong. And for that I should hate him. I should despise all he stood for and the fact that he existed. But I don't.
I don't give him thought. He does not deserve it.

Earlier in life, you've heard about us leaving David. My mother's husband. The man I though was my father. This was not easy. I hated him. I was angry. My father left me. I knew he wasn't, but I thought he was, and he wasn't around anymore. Did he miss me? Did he know I wasn't there.
At this point I didn't think about my real father, not a thought. He was gone for now, never to return.
A few more years later, My little sister left us to go and live with her father. David. And things were never the same again. I was forgotten. Lost and alone.

Isolated from my family for my intelligence, my father had left me, my new father hurt us. We moved so often I had no friends, my sister made my life miserable.
But I smiled. I was alive.
At a young age, little things mattered, life was full of plans and hopes. I would become something and someone. I would not be these people. I would not repeat the mistakes of the father.
I didn't want to be superman at this point. I wanted to be a man. But I was only a guest.

Times are skewed......

There are many smaller incidental memories that carry on from here until the next major chapter of my life.
let's visit a few of them before we arrive back in Queensland. This was the end of Primary School. The start of High School. Scary times ahead and the playing field would change.

Memories.....lonely ones. I'm not lonely, theyt just sit by themselves for the moment. Maybe the rest of the life that surrounds them will be found later.

• We lived in a small house with prickly pears behind it. Fields full of them. We would go out in the afternoon with a tennis racquet and hit rocks through them. Occasionally we would hit rocks up into the air. I have no idea what was originally supposed to be around this specific house, but it was away from the world and there was nothing within any kind of distance of us.
• I lived in a cupboard. Literally.
• I guess the cupboard needs some explanation, we had moved into a 1 bedroom house, and my mother and Paul decided my sister and I would share the room and they would use the loungeroom as a bedroom. After all who would come knocking in the middle of nowhere?
  Unfortunately as luck would have it, my sister did NOT wish to share, and convinced my mother that she should have her own room. And it was agreed. Where I would sleep had not yet been decided. And then genius struck them. I would live in the linen cupboard. Now don't be confused about my residence. It was a cupboard by any description. I slept on a hammock they had built and I had 2 shelves for my stuff. I could even close my door as i had a light and all.
  My shelves contained a collection of plastic soldiers only 1cm tall. And an Atari 2600 and about 50 games. This may seem a lot, but this is what poor people spend money on. Friends, relatives, and second hand shops had supplied us with MANY games at a very low cost. ( I beleive about 30 of them came from Telelist in one spectacular $12 purchase). Have I mentioned I didnt own a tv?
• We lived in a tractor shed. One end of it was sealed off into a 2 room 1 bedroom flat. Don't mistake this as a house next to the shed, it was very clearly the end of the shed sealed off. When living here I learned to light fires. No, I wasn't an arsonist. It was my job to light the donkey.
• I also learned to love watermelon. There is a life long love affair between me and watermelon. I used to buy them enormous, Large. MASSIVE. 12-18kg of watermelon. Which I'm sure I've mentioned already in the blog.
• Then we all moved to Queensland, once again to be near a relative, my mother seemed to grow lonely from time to time. So we followed my Aunt again, a few months behind.

If it mattered. If my life impacted here. it didn't feel like it did. I was only a guest.