I woke up with throbbing eyeballs and remembered nothing. How cliché. My stomach readjusted itself. I checked the time. 8:11am. Holy crap, I felt like death. I dove for my dustbin and heaved. Loud. I heard thundering footsteps and Mum came barging through the door.
‘It’s morning! Why are you throwing up? It’s morning!!’
Mum sniffed the air and sighed with relief, ‘Oh, thank goodness.’ And closed the door again. I groaned and dragged my hand across my mouth. Gross. When the room stopped lurching around me, I slugged myself into the bathroom. Ugh. I looked like death too. I touched a fresh scab on my forehead. What the-? I shook my head in disbelief. Nothing better to cheer you up than a big bottle of depressant. How was I even let out of the house? I stared myself down in the mirror and started to remember.
Vivian had driven me into the city to meet up with her friend, Maxi. I was holding up well. I had stopped crying and was even able to smile for her when she got into the car. Vivian and Maxi assured me that I’d really enjoy Third Class. It was a bar popular for its rundown décor and obscure location in one of Melbourne’s dingy laneways. Just as we got there, I drained the rest of dad’s cheap wine. They were right. I did like the place. Graffiti everywhere. Bicycles hanging from the ceiling. Skin-heads. Tattoos. Cool…How the hell was this solving anything? Ooohh what an awesome beat. I hit the dance floor with Maxi. She started wiping at my face. I pushed her hands away. I went on dancing. I went on drinking. Everything was blurry but even then I could tell I was getting too many looks on the dance floor so I backed into the bathroom. I found myself in front of the mirror. Staring back was a skinny, tear-streaked, hollow girl. Someone I never thought I’d become. My tears showed no mercy then. I stumbled into a cubicle, sat on the toilet and bawled. I bawled and bawled. Then Vivian’s head popped up over the cubicle wall. She coaxed me out. She and Maxi wiped away at my make-up stained face while I inhaled shaky breaths to calm myself down. Air. I needed air. They led me outside and I gravitated to the cigarette the door-girl was puffing.
‘CanIhavadrag? I promist Iwone schlobberallovarit…’
The door-girl went and got me a fresh one instead. I lit up and started puffing. The toxic cloud filled me with nausea. I never understood smoking. It never made me feel good. I sneered at the cigarette and passed it on to Maxi who stomped it out. I staggered away from the girls and slammed my forehead into a graffitied brick wall. Vivian ran after me and grabbed my face and wiped at my forehead.
‘I don’t understand!’ I slurred. ‘I like going out. I like these kinds of places. I like being around people. But I don’t want it! I don’t need it! None of this means anything! I don’t want to be in Melbourne anymore!!’
I pushed her off and slammed my back against the wall and slid down to the dirty ground. This is what I was reduced to. And I let it happen. I ignored my own needs thinking it was the noble thing to do by the family and it came to this: broken down in a dumpster alley-way, drunk, dejected and looking like shit.
I splashed some more cold water onto my face, brushed the fowl out my mouth, and crawled back into bed.
I re-awoke at 11am. Something was different. I was filled with an eerie sense of calm. Like the tears of last night had washed away the muck of my existence and revealed what I needed to do to improve my life situation. It was suddenly so clear. I had nothing to lose. Nothing. I had no ‘real’ responsibilities. I had no ‘real’ commitments. I had no bills to pay. No mortgage. No career. No boyfriend (Thank goodness). No kids. Nothing. The only thing I would be leaving behind was a pair of pissed off parents. But who cares? I got out of bed and waited for the room to settle down around me. I was still hung over but I felt more clarity than I had in months.
Enough was enough. First step was hand in my letter of resignation to my parents. And then quit the chocolate boutique. And then take the money I worked my butt off for and go backpacking around Australia. It’s about bloody time. I was done crying. I walked into the kitchen and found mum sitting at the table with the day’s paper. I sat across from her.
Mum looked back at me expressionless as I spoke. When I finished, she simply said, ‘You can do what you want’. She held my gaze for a moment longer and then resumed reading the newspaper. She didn’t mean it. It didn’t matter. I took a deep breath and exhaled very slowly.
Later that night I called one of my old friends, Lucy. We’d been friends since we were fourteen and she always helped me make decisions.
‘I don’t know, Deb. Wouldn’t that come across as ungrateful? I mean, your parents have done so much for you. Raised you, fed you, provided a good home, treated you right…and now you want to run away?’
‘That’s the thing! They’ve done SO much for me. So much that I haven’t done anything for myself. You know, I only just realized the other day I’ve never done my own laundry! Or cooked for myself. Or choose my Uni course. Or organize any of my trips ANYwhere. I’ve never made any big decisions! NONE!’
‘Deb, you’re shouting.’
I lowered my voice. ‘It’s not that I’m ungrateful. I love them to bits and I’m proud of what they’ve achieved. I’m just so unhappy. Is that a fair compromise? To keep running this bloody mouse-wheel, getting freakin’ nowhere, absolutely miserable but at least ‘grateful’? There’s more out there. It’s waiting for me. This is what I reckon: mum and dad came here for a better life and freedom for their children…so why can’t I use that freedom?’
‘Think about how unhappy they’d be if you left.’
‘How about how unhappy I’d be if I stayed? I won’t be gone forever, Luce.’ Why was she defending them?
‘Yeah, but wouldn’t you feel sorry for them?’ That’s their problem.
‘You’re making me sound selfish.’
There was an uncomfortable pause. ‘Maybe you’re more free-spirited than me, but for me to be happy, my parents need to be happy. So I do everything I can. I keep the house clean…I try hard at my studies…I come home everyday…if they’re happy, I’m happy.’
I frowned. Something about that didn’t sit right with me. I let out an exasperated sigh. ‘I’ve been doing all that for the last 22 years and Mum and Dad aren’t exactly thrilled about me crying every night. No one’s bloody winning.’
‘You’ve got it pretty good, Deb. It could be a lot worse.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know. It’s probably something you just need to get out of your system. But I reckon you shouldn’t put your parents through that kind of unhappiness for that. Just ask yourself if it’s worth it.’
So...keep myself unhappy to keep my parents happy...? I was glad I had that phone call. Lucy helped me get my priorities in order and solidified what I needed to do: leave.
