Читать книгу The Gap Year(s) - Nathy Gaffney - Страница 11

As I mentioned before, I do have a habit of ignoring warning signs, and this financial crisis of mine was no exception, so I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I took a holiday.

To a destination called ‘Denial’.

The perfect place for a sabbatical when your life goes to shit. It was a great place to hang out. It’s 24/7 indulgence in Denial.

I was not responsible for anything. I could shop for hours on end and easily justify every purchase. I needed those handbags, shoes, sunglasses, and clothes. There were no bills to pay. There were loads of like-minded people to play and party with (it’s a popular destination, but there’s always room for more to join in the fun). You could stay in bed all day if you like – hey, it’s even encouraged in Denial! Food is calorie-free in Denial, too. Did I mention that? Chocolate and ice cream are practically salad there!

Even when the bills (and the extra kilos) turned up, somehow, I didn’t get around to dealing with them. But no matter; I was blameless. My terrible ex-husband was entirely responsible for all the ills that befell me. But me? Utterly guilt free… in Denial.

It was a blissful, decadent, and self-indulgent place. I loved it.

I was pain free in Denial.

And, once there, I got used to it.

And I needed it! I deserved it. After all, I’d been through a pretty shitty time. Right? (Yeah, right!)

In the months immediately after Andy and I separated, my best friend and her family moved away from Sydney, and my business partner of 7 years bowed out of our (financially struggling) relationship and relocated her family to Melbourne. I knew my fiscal landscape wasn’t looking pretty, but my personal landscape looked bleak, too. Not only had I lost my marriage and my husband, but I’d lost my business and my two best friends.

2011 seemed to be the year of endings. I’d lost so much. Boohoo, poor me.

I was broke (and broken), lonely and alone, and simply didn’t have the emotional resilience to think clearly or rationally about my predicament.

I languished in bed in the mornings. With cups of tea (with fresh milk) and my laptop, I’d set myself up with a little ‘tea and toast picnic’ and go shopping. Online shopping – buying handbags and shoes and trinkets. ‘My Habit’ was my favourite site, and it kept me busy most mornings between 6 & 7 a.m. (I must drop Mr. Amazon a thank-you note one day for buying it and incorporating it into the Amazon site – that change definitely helped me lose interest since it lost its flair afterward!)

After dropping Leo at school in the mornings, I would then head to the gym for a (not too heavy) workout. In Denial, after all, even the lightest of exercise will deliver great results! Coupled with a bit of flirting with the personal trainers at Fitness First, that made for a great start to my busy day in Denial.

On the way home, I’d stop for a barista-tastic coffee. I deserved it. When friends invited me to dinner or lunch or away for weekends, I always said yes. How could I not? I desperately wanted my life to be normal. Or at least for it to seem normal. How could I tell this friend or that friend that I couldn’t afford a teensy little lunch or dinner out? On one hand, it was irresponsible, but on the other, it kept me sane (in an insane kind of way). I just kept putting my immediate need for comfort and distraction before all else in a futile attempt to drown out the clanging bells of disaster that were ringing ever louder in my head.

My various freelance performing jobs were generating some income, to be sure, but it was sporadic at best. I was truly living on a knife’s edge. A very sharp and uncomfortable imbalance of cash (where I could earn it) and credit… well, credit pretty much everywhere else.

A few months passed in this haze of magical, mystical, artificial euphoria. Until one day my visa expired (or exploded) – literally and metaphorically – and I was unceremoniously dumped back into the steaming pile of poo that was my real life.

I have read that one in five newly separated women struggle to pay for basic needs for their kids, such as school supplies and clothes.

I was about to find out what it was like to become a statistic.

The return journey from Denial wasn’t quite so sweet. It was a bit like coming down off a 3-day bender, and it hit me hard. The cold, harsh light of reality pierced my retinas with the force of an EpiPen being driven into a chest cavity, and yet the pain of seeing clearly for the first time in months was only just beginning.

The smoke-and-mirrors part of this production was well and truly over. Next up on the programme, cruel facts: the unpaid bills, the bad financial habits, the unfinished tasks, the painful conversations, and all the rest of the harsh truths. Like bullies, but bigger, stronger, and meaner than they were at school. There was nowhere to run and hide. I had no choice but to stand up and face them.

The question was, how?