Time is one of these things you either love or you hate, there seems to be no middle ground when it comes to time. Right now and over the last year, time has been an adversary that has been and is unrelenting in its patience. Somehow I feel as though I’ve been taken hostage by this unforgiving foe. I may be someone who complains a lot about small things, but I don’t think having to relinquish my personal space is any small feat. I do possess an endurance to withstand these little nuances that add up into great big ordeals, however to have the perpetual sands of time trickle away something loosely defined as my freedom, is something all together different. What I’m talking about, is that I’ve had my Dad come and live with me for what seems like an eternity and I’ve endured this living arrangement for way too long. I want my space back. I want my life back. I don’t want to have to be a slave anymore to this man who is my dad. I could be derided for something which seems trivial but to me this is not a trivial matter. I hurt everyday that this man is in close proximity to me and I have every right to feel this hurt. I don’t believe anyone really wants to listen to this outrage and silent despair so I’ll write about it, at least the page staring back me will have no objections if I vent.

I recently read a book recommended to me, called “The Body Never Lies” by Alice miller and in the book she outlined a philosophy where she expressed her view that we don’t have to follow a morality of “Honour thy Mother and Father”. It has stirred my thoughts about the reasons why I entered into this agreement with my dad, to have him live with me while he works Sydney. The reason falls exactly into this category of fourth commandment morality that has been instilled in us since childhood whether we are Christians or not. Society has deemed it appropriate and “good” to respect and honour thy parents. My lack of self respect drove me to this deception of altruistic ideology and I deeply regret not having the good sense to make a decision based on my needs rather the needs of my dad.

Alice Miller described in her book about the need to be allowed to express the negative emotions that lurk behind the exterior of self deception which demands that we forgive the sins of our parents in order to be able to move on. I was under the impression that this methodology was in fact correct, the tried and true method, however I have come to understand that it is not possible to forgive. I am not readily able to let bygones be bygones simply because it is the “good” thing to do. I have tried by letting him live under the same roof as me but it is a doomed venture. I simply do not have the capacity to be able to forget what my body is telling me and it speaks every time I cringe and feel anxiety and fear around the tyranny of a wish that desires that the past be forgotten and rewritten into a fairytale of unconditional love and acceptance. It works on a two way street, what I want I can’t really have. My hurt is there and it will always be there because I delude myself with the notion that I will have a relationship with my dad that is on an equal footing and is consistent with freedom of communication, something which I recognise now as something that can never exist

So I trip on time waiting. I wait two more months while the clock beats its pulse. tick. tock. tick. tock. Awaiting time when it will allow me my freedom. As I wait, the present shadows the motion of day and night and my only hope is for the cycles of light and dark to pass quickly so I can then, at the very least feel safe again. Hopefully this wish will become reality but wishes are things that can easily be quashed with a few words like “they’ve extended my contract for two more months” *cringe*