Can't choose your parents now can you...

I thought it was about time to do the daughterly thing - which is not really my style at all - and call my mother and tell her I'm leaving the country in 2 weeks for a wee 5 week European Adventure..

Now I'm not particularly close to my family. That has a lot to do with the fact that I'm the youngest and my parents split when I was six which resulted in not a lot of notice being given to me by either of them. Dad was more interested in starting a new family and breeding some more and Mum had to work her arse off to raise 3 kids under 8 with no help from him and little help from the extended family. Plus the hundred and one other reasons that my family is insanely disconnected and dysfunctional. Mostly this never bothered me. Having never learnt to be close to them I didn't know any different. I did marvel at other families and the fact that they enjoyed being together - looked forward to Christmas and had genuine affection. There were also more fucked up families around me.

My mother and one of my brothers played a major role in my attitude to weight, eating and general health. For most of the 70's and 80's my mother was on some kind of caffeine laden diet pill. At 13 she thought I ought to join her. When I look at pictures of my 13 year old self I have to wonder what kind of crack she was on. I wasn't an overweight kid - not by any means. I wasn't stick thin either. I was at times 'plump' but even I knew in my head that I shouldn't be dramatically concerned.. My mother however was 40-45 kgs at 155cm tall. She was teensy tiny. She was single and had a rather hedonistic social life. My brother - who is only 3 years older then me spent a good proportion of his time when we were teenagers telling me I really didn't need to eat and that no guy would ever think I was attractive if I dared to eat a biscuit or piece of bread. This is the same guy who would break into corner shops - steal all the candy and throw it into my room in the middle of the night. I never liked chocolate then either. He also used to count the meals I had during the day. I pretty much started sneaking food to my bedroom so I could eat in peace. At the dinner table I would leave a lot of food untouched to show them I didn't overeat. Even to this day I never finish my plate.

I have strong feelings for my mother. Mostly good - some meh.. She pretty much raised her 8 brothers and sisters when my Grandfather died when she was a teen - leaving school at 13 to do so. When I grew up from being a self absorbed teenager I often thought that I don't know how she raised my brothers and I. We weren't really without anything. All the essentials were provided and I didn't feel that deprived. We were very poor - but so was nearly everyone in my neighbourhood. She had guts too. At one stage when my father got custody of me and I was living with him 3 states away my mother drove for 24hrs - kidnapped me from my grade 1 class - and then drove 24hrs home. Probably thanks to the fucking caffeine pills but she did it. She then fought for custody and won. I have always been grateful to her for that because it showed an extraordinary sense of motherhood.

The 80's were tough when my family got affected severely by addiction.. My mother and my food gatekeeper brother were into a lot of shit. My other brother had gone to live with my Grandmother and has thankfully grown into a decent man with awesome values. I became the sort-of sensible one in the family. I swore I'd never smoke, drink or get involved in anything like they were. We were raided a couple of times and I found myself in emergency foster care for a short while. Mum and I were in state-enforced counselling for a time so she could get me back. Though I generally had to live with them hardly ever sober and the house always full of the kind of people noone needs to associate with on mass. Especially as a developing girl.

The summer I graduated from highschool I moved to the city. I'd gotten into University - being the only one in my family to do so. I started a new life. I even changed my first name a little. I emotionally disconnected completely. To this day I have never slept under my mothers roof again. I would go home occasionally but never completely willingly and I wouldn't stay for long. They began to treat me as if I thought I was too good for them and maybe I did think that deep down. Hell - it's exactly what I thought. I knew I didn't want to be them but I still had genuine affection for them somewhere inside me.

I used to cringe calling my mother - she would often begin every conversation with 'How's the weight?' - I was a size 10 and 163cm tall but convinced I was a 'large girl with my grandmothers hips'. When I went home to visit my appearance was always remarked on. I was also going through a crazy goth/Beatrice Dahl stage so I can understand a little of their concerns! Except Beatrice Dahl is hot - I was a short blonde girl tring to pull of the look with died black hair - hysterical! I was never really fat though. I was just very very different from the girls that grew up in my neighbourhood. ie: I wasn't married to my high school jerk off jock boyfriend and pregnant with my 3rd child by 19. I also never wanted to work at McDonald's, K-mart, Target or be a receptionist in a mechanics office. Instead I was leading an 'artsy fartsy' life at Drama school doing a double Bachelor of Arts degree in Theatre and Film Production. I hung out with wanky cafe dwelling, philosophy spewing cultural 'intellectuals' - and enjoyed every fucking minute of it. I learnt more about the outside world in my first year at Drama school then I had in all the years I lived in what I can only describe as an impoversihed wasteland littered with feelings of hopelessness and no way out. See I became a snob. But I also became the person I knew was inside. Had I been gay - it would equate to the feeling of coming out.

It's been a long time since I moved away. I didn't move all that far - just 60 mins up the highway - but it feels like another timezone. I have moved countries several times but I've always moved back to Brisbane when I come home. I've made many amends over that time. I've sat and drunk a whole Boxing Day away with my mother discussing all the crazy shit that happened.

I don't let my brothers remarks get to me anymore and I try very very hard every time we are together (which is generally limited to Christmas) to see us all as equals and understand them and hope they understand me. They still live the same life they were in the 80's. I believe my mother was sober for a little while during the 90's but I've never been so sure. I certainly broke my promise to myself and I did start smoking (stopped a year ago). I most certainly started drinking and I've dabbled in other things - but not as crazy as them. I am my mother in many ways - I hear it in some of the things I say. I am cautious of addiction and keep in the forefront of my mind that I am most certainly pre-disposed to it. I also know at times that I have momentarily spiralled out of control in hedonistic terms but thankfully have a little voice inside my head that reminds me of the foster homes and police raids and general well being.. No-ones at all perfect - least me.

My weight gain over the past couple of years has everything to do with being complacent and lazy. It is also a result of low self esteem and using gaining weight to be a weapon for resisting changing things that needed to change. Losing weight has not made the demons disappear - but it has reminded me that I have a lot of control over my life.

So this afternoon I rang my mother. I should of realised the time - she usually starts on 'a little scotch with water' after lunch on a Saturday. At first I just pushed through the awkward slurring and told her about the trip. She has never been overseas and I can tell she's thinking I'm a bit too big for my britches. Though she says lovely little 'oh wow's' and 'greats' - but also asks if I'm not worried about terrorists, extremists and bird flu. arrg. I don't live in the cycle of fear that Bush and Howard would have us all cowering under. But I understand a mothers concern for sure. I mentioned I was also going to be visiting a friend of mine in London who grew up in the same place I did and is now very successful through sheer determination and the same desire as me to shake off the repercusions of our families and environment of the past. Lately he has been in the press here for standing up for gay marriages and rights of justice. My mother quips that his opinions really should be kept to himself. I said I wholeheartedly believed in what he was saying but mostly believed he is allowed his opinion. We argued about him 'knowing his place' (WTF!) and 'keeping quiet on such matters'. This is from the woman who brought me up to believe in liberalism!

I told my mother I was getting off the phone and would call her in the morning. She seemed fine with that. I had tears in my eyes when her slurring goodbye was hard to distinguish. I hung up and stared at the wall. She called back a few minutes later - my mother and I actually NEVER argue. We avoid. We're experts at that. She said 'Speak to me'. For the first time in my life I said the words I've always wanted to have the guts or whatever it is to say. I told her I thought she'd had a little too much to drink to talk and that I will talk to her tomorrow. Her little voice at hearing me state the obvious at the drinking remark was heartbreaking. I then poured my self a glass of red and wrote this epic piece..