My London Family

In my first post I promised to tell you about my time in London. Not that I have anything particularly interesting to say about London. Except that I made some amazing friends and I felt accepted for the first time in my life. 

I grew up in a very unhappy house and I was constantly being told I was an idiot. That I was hated. So by the time I was in my teenage years I was so insecure and socially awkward that, even if I tried to make friends, people thought I was weird. 

Then, when I was 19, I moved to London. It was never something I planned to do. A girl I used to work with had moved there. In a way we were friends and I decided to go and visit her about a year after she moved. I was made redundant just before I left for my holiday so I decided to get a visa and stay in London for a while.

Looking back I cannot fathom how I could be so brave. I was such a scared and unhappy kid. I had no idea what I was doing. I don't think I realised where the other side of the world really was. 

After I visited my friend (who turned out not to be so much a friend as someone who liked that I could be bossed about) and doing a 5 week tour of the UK, it was time to find somewhere permanent to live.

I looked at a few share houses around Hammersmith and Fulham, which seemed nice areas. I had my heart set on a place in Fulham, a beautiful house with about 8 other people living there. Thankfully that wasn't to be (they didn't want me, maybe because I called them about 5 times in 2 days to see if they'd made a decision yet). However, a crew of 4 in Hammersmith did want me. It was a run down place with ugly carpet. I hated it. And it was the start of an amazing experience.

Those 4 other people became my best friends. They accepted me for who I was. I never felt awkward or weird. I never felt judged or disliked. I was embraced and loved. They became my family.

There was a newly married couple who were like a big brother and sister to me, I looked up to them and leaned on them like parents. A nurse who was hilarious, we shared a room and went on many travelling adventures together. Another newly arrived girl a few years older than me, the younger sister of the married couple. She became my best friend and someone I am still close with today. 

We all had a great time together, drinking and dancing at The Puzzle Bar in Fulham on a Friday night. The occasional Sunday session at the local or The Walkabout in Shepherds Bush. Drinks and games back home after the pubs were closed. It was great. 

It wasn't all about drinking. And it wasn't always happy times. But it was the best time of my life. The nurse went and another girl came. The best friend of my 'big brother' was usually there too. And those 6 people have given me the most amazing memories. 

After a year I decided I wanted my own room so I moved out. It's a decision I regret. Although we stayed in touch it was never quite the same.

Nevertheless they have contributed to the person I am today. They gave me confidence and self esteem. They loved and accepted me for who I am. I don't see them very often any more. Some of them I haven't spoken to in years. But they are always in my heart. And I am forever grateful to them for their kindness, love and friendship.

Today is my 4th birthday

Not my belly button birthday. My AA birthday. At 7.55pm, 4 years ago today, I walked into my very first AA meeting. I was 29 years old. I was terrified and I was going to burst into tears at any moment.

The AA website assured me that plenty of women of all ages attend AA, my image of a bunch of old men, standing around smoking and sullen, was completely untrue according to the site.

So in my warm comfy jeans and ugg boots, with my hoodie pulled over my head, I walked up the dark driveway to the door of my first AA meeting. I had every intention of sitting in the far back of the room, saying nothing and leaving as soon as it was over.

As I approached I could see a bunch of older men standing at the door smoking. My first stereotype had come to pass.

I tried to sneak past and into the door but one of them stuck their hand out and said hello, told me his name and asked me if it was my first meeting. There was no escape now.

I needed a drink. As I walked in the door I knew my first stop was the tea and coffee table hollywood movies assure me were at all AA meetings. I was right. There it was. Across the room, surrounded by more men. Not a woman in sight.

It was here I met my next obstacle. Another welcoming smile and a hand to shake. I desperately wanted my cup of tea. That safety net of a drink in my hand. I shook the hand offered to me, told him my name and said I was new, that I didn't really know what to expect. Tears were building and my throat was tight but I managed not to cry.

Finally I made it to that table. I had my cup, my safe haven. My next obstacle appeared. There was no back of the room. The chairs were set in a circle. Nowhere to hide.

So I walked over to the circle and sat next to my second greeter. The man who appeared to be running the show. A lovely, gentle man who made me feel safe.

It was just me and 11 other men. All over 50 years old. And it was one of the best things that ever happened to me.

I walked into that meeting believing I wasn't an alcoholic and I walked out knowing I was one. It was the start of healing, understanding and forgiveness.

Hello

So this is it, my very first blog post. It's Saturday night, 9.20pm and I'm sitting in my tracksuit pants, alone except for my 16 year old cat. What can I say, obviously I like to live life on the edge.

Having called my blog 'the story of me' I now feel obligated to tell you my story. I'm not much of a storyteller though and I fear I'll simply bore everyone to tears with my attempts at creating something humorous and somewhat interesting.

I will persevere though and start by telling you about the closest thing to my heart, my cat. Her name is Mini and she's a seal point siamese. I acquired her when she was a spritely 8 year old with all her teeth intact. She has moved with me 4 times in the 8 years we've been together and has never once complained.  I love her to bits.

Mini 4 years ago at her favourite house

She is now 16 and she's not looking so good. She's become a skinny little thing and has lost a few teeth. She's hasn't lost her marbles though. Nevertheless, she's dying. Her body is getting old but her mind is still sharp as a tack. Watching her slowly deteriorate and waiting for the day the vet tells me its time to say goodbye is truly heartbreaking.

Now, knowing I have a 16 year old cat you may think I'm older than I am. Don't get me wrong, I'm not 'young' any more but I am only 33. I feel I've done a fair bit for a 33 year old though. I grew up in the same house until I was 19. Since then I have moved 9 times. Yep, 9 times in 14 years.

The first big move was to London. I was a month off turning 20 when I got on a plane for 'one year' in London. That year turned into 3. I'll leave the stories of London and my early 20's to another time. I will say though that I moved each year I was there, from Hammersmith to Tooting Bec, then to West Hampstead.

The return to Australia when I was 23 saw me back at my parents house (1.5 hours south-west of Sydney) for 6 months before I made the move to my next big city - Sydney. There I moved from Maroubra to Clovelly, then to Kings Cross, Killara, Turramurra and finally to my current residence 3 hours west, over the Great Dividing Range.

I've lived here for 11 months now and am looking forward to staying in one place for a while.