Geowalkabout

I thought it was enough not to drink or use drugs to solve problems like my family. I waited with abated breath for the time that the dreaded darkness would come and pull me into that life. It never came, but what I was left with was emptiness, not knowing how to love myself, not knowing what to do with ‘feelings’ and ‘thoughts’. I waited to learn a new way, another way. And then my world was shattered into shards of glass that continue to stab at me, when I watched my father die in pain. What comes of me? A promise he forced me to make, to get fit and live a healthy life and a grief so consuming that I wanted to be sucked into the boodjar (earth) where my ancestors lay. I went to grief counselling at a place for families of veterans because it was the only place I still felt a connection to him. He loved the ADF and it was his life. Through this immense loss I am learning to keep my promise to him and live a life worth living. To love myself so that I can trust others and let people in.

I didn’t mean to be alone this long.
It just… happened.
One year folded into the next,
and the quiet became familiar,
like an old coat I stopped noticing I was wearing.

I told myself I was fine.
That solitude was strength.
That I didn’t need the mess of love,
the ache of wanting,
the risk of being seen.

But the truth?
I was afraid.
Afraid of being known and then left.
Afraid of giving my heart to someone
who wouldn’t know how to hold it.

So I built a life that asked nothing of anyone.
No explanations.
No vulnerability.
Just the safety of routine,
and the silence of not trying.

Then you came.
And something shifted.
Your voice felt like warmth I’d forgotten.
Your presence stirred a hunger I’d buried.

I wanted to lean in.
To say yes.
To let you in.

But the walls I built weren’t just metaphor.
They’re muscle memory.
And I didn’t know how to dismantle them fast enough
to meet you where you stood—
open, brave, waiting.

So I pulled back.
Not because I didn’t feel it.
But because I did.
And it terrified me.

I don’t know how to love without losing myself.
I don’t know how to be held without flinching.
But I think about you.
More than I admit.
And I wonder if you’d still be there
if I ever found the courage to try.