I have to write this down. I have to let the pressure surge down my fingers through the keyboard and out…
…into the ether… 
Right now I am under more pressure than I’ve felt in a very long time, which is really saying something because in the last year alone I’ve tried to settle in a new country, got married, lost my job, fought an Immigration and Asylum Appeal and run out of money.
I didn’t sleep much last night. I couldn’t breathe. Every time I shut my eyes all I could see was a red pulse projected onto the inside of my eyelids. My blood was beating white hot through my veins and every now and again a sharp flash of tension slashed my head.
What if the text message came through now? In the dark. 2am panic. Surrounded by my family sleeping I felt so very alone. Rigid with fear.
My sister rang from Australia at 11pm. Anxious, panicky. After a long discussion of soothing noises and encouraging words we decided that if things got worse she would text first. Something like…
You need to call me about Mum. Urgently.
My 73 year old mother lives alone. She has not been well,for a long time. Recently she had a mini stroke. Actually, I think she had two. She does not want to leave her home for a retirement village. She does not want to move closer to my sister because ‘it’s awful there’. She does not want to be alone. She has had the warning signs that a major stroke is coming, soon.
Most of all she does not want to lose her independence.
She is angry and spiteful to her family, and hurt and wounded and tearful that her daughters won’t help. That we won’t move our children and our husbands to be near her. All her good friends in the local area have died. She only has acquaintances left.
She is angry and bitter.
I remember her as a woman in her thirties with her long black hair wound in a honeycomb bun on the top of her head. I remember her elegance, her determination off the golf tee, her cooking and her parties.
I remember when she was young, and she smiled..
This morning, Monday morning I had a meeting with my bank manager to discuss my ailing accounts. She was nice, understanding.
‘You’ve experienced some really bad luck’ She said, referring to the year long restriction from working because of visa restrictions, the ex-husband stopping his child support payments for my three children and losing my job to redundancy. Not to mention the divorce, the moving countries and the costs of getting my visa status sorted.
And the starting again, on the other side of the world!
I thanked her for her concern and mentioned that I was trying to turn things around and then I detailed my plan. I was upbeat and quietly confident.
(I think I can, I think I can)
I threw into the conversation that if I head back Down Under for a while it won’t be on a jolly. She reassured me that she could see that it was a temporary blip.
Universe I’ve readied myself, it’s your turn now.
(I think I can, I think I can)
I was honest. I felt overwhelmed with sadness and grief as I recounted my story. But I didn’t let it show. I was professional…
(I think I can, I think I can)
I told her that like the spider I would keep trying until I get to the top of that wall and escape the cave of this stressful situation.
We shook hands amiably and I walked back out into the fluorescent search-lights of the shopping mall. I felt stripped to a carcass. I’m not sure how much more I have to give.
I walked three paces from the door of the bank, my smile slipped and I burst into tears.
Image by stuant63
