We have been away from home for nearly seven weeks. We have both acknowledged that this trip has not been restful and relaxing. And that is the first revelation for me.
I worked for weeks like a navvy preparing for this trip. I packed and repacked, sourced more than enough alkaline water for Michael, organised scripts and more non-perishable food than would be needed for an Antarctic expedition. I cooked some meals to be frozen, cleaned and dusted the house from top to bottom, ironed every piece of clothing and washed and changed the bed on the day our house renters were to arrive. The house was neat as a pin, the caravan and car were both groaning and we didn't actually leave until after three o'clock on a winter's afternoon.
And that's when all my preparation led to exhaustion, disillusionment and hollowness. After discovering that the caravan park north of Perth didn't accept dogs (as we were on our way), we changed tack and ended up in the Midland Caravan Park.The place was serviceable but no more.
The other two days we spent there were no more relaxing. We collected Michael's dark multifocal glasses, an extra CPAP mask and accessories that were an eye watering price and spent the next day trying to make sense of all the stuff we'd packed.
That was when Michael and I began to bicker. This was not the dream start to the trip I had been imagining. Then we encountered disaster after disaster. The caravan park in Dalwallinu was dirty and dusty. The bathrooms were disgusting. We fled onward to Yalgoo after two awful nights.
Yalgoo had received a lot more rain than usual. We were hampered by muddy tracks that could not be traversed. The rain continued on and off for a week. We were eaten alive by midgies. We began to feel trapped as we could not leave until we received our Centrelink pensions and rent for the house.
We gratefully left for Northampton. This is a pretty town and we manged to snag a spot under some trees at the edge of the park. We moved onto Carnarvon, and as I had booked a cheaper park, we were soon covered in dust every time any car went past us. At least the weather was better.
Worryingly, Stella began to bark relentlessly at people, dogs, bicycles and gophers. This was when my imagined bliss about the trip well and truly began to fall apart. Michael was perplexed by my despair. I kidded myself that by applying "Danshari" principle to my brain, I would be alright.
Except I wasn't alright. Moving onto Onslow (where I had such fond memories) left me aghast. We were placed in the hottest and windiest position in the new "upper" caravan park. There was no shade at all and high winds for over a week destroyed what was left of my well being. Even the beach was different where sand had disappeared in the wake of the latest cyclone and left sharp rocks and mountains of shells. Only at low tide could we find some mud flats for the dogs to be able to run and play.
Onslow looked like a building site - "they paved paradise and turned it into a parking lot." A hundred caravans were crammed into the upper level with only one laundry and one camp kitchen that was eight hundred steps from our van. The two washing lines were filled by nine in the morning. The reticulation line behind our van blew apart in the middle of the night and scared the shit out of me and the dogs. The mess left by this explosion of water took a day to clean up. We had booked three weeks and could not move to Point Samson officially until 4 August. The place was filled with cliques of people travelling together and very few people talked to us.
So we collected shells and walked the dogs, mostly at low tide. Stella was becoming quite aggressive to other dogs because she was leashed most of the time. By this stage, I could not speak without crying. Michael took photos of me walking hunched over on the beach, consumed by this over whelming sadness. I was wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Michael was just as perplexed and I grew terrified that he would leave me because of my emotional state.
We were scammed on the last Saturday night before we left Onslow. Suddenly. I could only use my credit card. And I dented the car on the same evening. I just sat at the pub and wept and wept.
I was having flashbacks of most of my life. Then came the next revelation. My dreadful mood was all to do with my mother. She was a mercurial, manipulative woman who could be quite vicious towards us all. She used punishment as standard procedure. Her mood, her self obsession and her actions meant I was always a lonely child who was never allowed to have friends to our house. Not that I had many. All of us went through stages where we believed one of us was her current 'golden child'. She never consulted any of us and certainly never considered our feelings.
Her legacy was one of chaos. She would end communication with me if I had offended her in some way. Which happened frequently. At one stage she didn't speak to me for six years. Michael asked me why I didn't contact her. I reflected long and hard about his question. I realised that I had always been afraid of her, even after her death. I had thought that I was dealing with the grief and sorrow well that she had caused by this time in my life.
I finally came to the revelation that my fear of her had coloured how I reacted throughout my life.. Suddenly, over the last few days, with the assistance of my GP, raising the dosage of my drugs and organising an appointment with a new and recommended psychiatrist. And I have come to the realisation that not only had I disliked her lack of understanding and attention of me ( and my brothers) I had lost any remaining feelings at all for her. And that understanding has been huge for me.
I know I have a long road ahead of me. I am tired of these episodes of despair. I need a plan to deal with my emotions when a flashback arises and I feel guilty and worthless.
I am so lucky that Michael has stuck by me. I suspect that without his continuing love and my beautiful dogs, I may have committed suicide. But my mother has not won. I have started calling her 'the Witch'. Which rhymes nicely with Michael's relationship with his nicotine addiction who we refer to as 'the Bitch'.
We are onward to Marble Bar on Friday. Mostly to collect my new debit card that has been sent to the Marble Bar post office and engage in a bit of fossicking. We are not sure how long we will remain there. I also do not want to be travelling and miss my appointment with my new psychiatrist.
We are both feeling that home is calling us. This has been such a fraught journey for both of us that we need to rest and recuperate at its closure. We have also made the decision to sell our Aliner, named Will because he has always been willing and able. He is just not for us any more.
This trip has been a cathartic experience but one I had to face. I have so much gratitude to my beloved Michael and our 'girls' for helping me back from the brink.
Thus ended this rather lengthy tome. And enjoy these photographs of Stella and Lexi.
