The tale of two half-lives

I arrived in Sydney reeking of heartbreak and hopelessness. I was hurting, I needed to feel good about myself, and I thought Australia could give it to me. My impromptu trip to my second 'home' here on the Northern Beaches was an attempt to mend a broken heart, and in some ways it has done that. Time to myself, away from the everyday pressures of life, has given me time to process and come to terms with the loss of someone that my heart was desperately holding on to.

But despite the cathartic closure I have found, there still remains a niggling unsettledness in me and my time here. I couldn't put my finger on it for a while, but now I understand. For the past four years I have made my way to Australia, each year saving all my money and pining for the life I have made here.  For four years I have yearned and wished and clawed at Australia. But in those years, in trying to be here and too in being here, my life has remained static. I have travelled all these miles, year after year, and yet I have been standing still. And that is no way to live a life.

Actively avoiding romance and consciously being closed to non-Australian love, in order to avoid complications, has left me colder and harder than I have ever been. It's made me even more cynical, even more indignant and even more stubborn. And deep down I know what we all know: that everyone on this earth just wants to be loved. That I want to be loved too. In willfully thrusting myself into this sticky limbo-life, I have been keeping it out. What a ridiculous trade off to make.

I have been closing the door on love, in order to try and open a door to a life in Australia. But when that door to Australia opens, and I really, really look at it, I find that the room is empty - it has nothing to offer me. And so I am left with neither. Standing in a corridor of doors that won't open, all alone.

I'm not sure what I was looking for here. Maybe it was just something different to my life in the UK, maybe it was the idea of being on the other side of the world. Maybe it was an escape from the fact that I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, so pining after a country was easier than admitting I didn't have a fucking clue what to do next. Whatever the reason was, there is nothing left for me here.

I have never felt truly at home in the UK, and coming to terms with the fact that my home isn't in Australia either is scary. But it's better to know and be able to keep searching, than to accept a life that I don't truly love.

So now the time has come to move on, to close a chapter that has pretty much ruled my life since 2013, to accept that I can't find something that isn't there. The friends and memories I have made here are beautiful beyond words, and thinking about leaving this place behind breaks my heart, but Australia doesn't have what I need.

I cannot go on living two half lives, for two half lives do not make me whole.

And whilst I am truly sad to walk away from this part of my life, I am filled with excitement for the adventures that await in my search for 'home'.

JoJo

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It's getting cold and also dark

The summer in Tenby is over. The crowds are diminishing at a rapid pace, with only walkers and young families clinging on to the hope of an Indian summer at reduced rate hotels. You can see them wandering grimly around the soggy streets, having mini breakdowns over the lack of change for the car park, Dad's four nicotine patches peeling away and Mum's gritted smile practically chipping off bits of her teeth.

The nights are edging in in surges of encroaching darkness and the temperature recedes almost daily. Tenby is now winding down: customer service is at an all time low and nobody gives a shit about a bad trip advisor review. Staff are so unfathomably exhausted from long hours and relentlessly busy weeks that there no longer lies a person behind their dark-bagged eyes, just a cold stone wall of hatred. Nobody is restocking anymore, you can chose between a shit burger, a shit curry or a shit lasagne, all frozen, and all microwaved by the glass collector who's covering the chefs extended fag break, more than likely flapping about the kitchen in a cloud of dandruff with unwashed hands and the pungent smell of puberty (read:old jiz). Bon Apetit.

The harbour shows the most obvious signs of autumnal-ness. The boat trips are becoming fewer and less populated, passengers are no longer distinguishable from one another in their outdoor kit, just small, quivering hoods bracing against the elements.
 The booking offices have gone back to looking like the sheds that they are, once teeming with people, inviting in custom and organising change, writing tickets and answering phone calls, they now sit inanimately, observing the odd wotsit packet whirling in the wind, or getting urinated on by dogs.

Cars can now pass through town easily, without having to stop every half a foot to avoid ploughing down some small twat on a micro scooter, its satanic face covered with some unnaturally-coloured sugary residue, or some old dear wandering in the middle of the road, farting audibly, not hearing the impatient shouts of her grandchildren to 'get off the road, Grandma'.

Despite it's un-ignorable irritations, the summer has been a very welcome intermission in the seemingly endless journey to recovery on my busted-up foot. The everyday intricacies of being on a boat have fed my water-centric soul and replenished my general happiness tenfold. Being on the water is by far my preferable state of being and there hasn't been a single day this summer that I have woken up and had that desperate disinterest in going to work.

I've decided to give a winter in Pembs a bash and am looking forward to getting my life back in some sort of order. Evenings spent reading inside and windy walks along the coast are on the cards, and I'm pretty keen to try and get back on a board, despite doctors saying it's unlikely to be possible with my gacky foot.

It's been a long while since I had my own space, having spent the last few years sofa surfing, sleeping on (punctured) inflatable mattresses and living a Harry Potter-esque life in spare rooms and other small spaces. But I have now found somewhere to live through the winter, in a lovely house in a great location in Tenby, and I'm looking forward to not living out of a suitcase for a while.

Winters in Pembs have historically consisted of everyone I know conveniently finding the love of their life just when all the fun and sunshine stops, pairing up with completely unsuitable partners in a desperation not unlike that of a Love Island contestant with nothing but z-list fame to live for.  Luckily this year most of my friends are emotionally damaged and alone (score!) so I perceive there to be some companionship to be had. I look forward to trying to get any of them in the sea over the colder months, me cheerfully gushing about the benefits of icy water rushing over your head while they look at me with equal parts of affectionate humour and genuine concern.

Things appear to be looking up *shocked cat emoji* - with my last operation happening soon, writing work in place over the winter and plans to get my boatmasters, there may actually be potential for me to get through the rest of the year without topping myself. I am very happy with that forecast and look forward to seeing what fun there is to be had.

Seeing The Funny Side

Yesterday marked seven months since my accident, and although it sucks most of the time, there's also those moments when I can't help but laugh at the desperate hopelessness of everyday situations. Here are ten observations that have forced me to see the funny side.


1. Bathing - You can't shower in a boot because you aren't allowed to get them wet, and even if you were they are so chunky that you become about six inches off balance which would no doubt end in disaster in a small and slippery space. So I take baths. The first problem with this is actually getting in said bath with only one leg. I have now mastered the one-leg tricep-dip immersion technique (I have nearly drowned several times as my hands slipped on the wet sides of the bath, my dry leg acting as a weight above me, keeping me under, but I live to tell the tale). So once I've clumsily lowered myself into the bath and nearly drowned, I look around me for, say, the shampoo. The shampoo, which of course, is on the top shelf of the storage rack. I can't reach for it because my dry leg is wedged against the wall, stopping me from being able to move forward. So, out I come again, dripping wet, naked, on one foot standing up and reaching for the shampoo that seems just out of arms reach, the whole time my good leg threatening to slip beneath my unbalanced weight. I successfully retrieve the shampoo and go about my bathing business.

Getting out is much easier - I just have to push up on the sides of the bath, whilst simultaneously bringing my wet leg out and balancing on the side with my dry leg in the air to avoid weight bearing. Then I just try not to fall back in whilst standing up,try and get to the towel before all the water drips into my bandages and make a weird naked crutch race to my room, where I can begin the sweaty chaos of getting dressed with one elephant sized leg, which is conveniently just a liiiitle too big to get any of my clothes over.

2. Carrying Things - If having crutches has any perks, it's that you can't carry food, and therefore are forced into a diet. I make a cup of tea, realise that I can't carry it and sit on the kitchen floor irritably sipping amongst the crumbs and the smooshed peas of the cold tiles. I once tried to push the mug across the floor with gentle taps of my crutch, inspired by the great curling athletes of our time, but the tiles are uneven and my crutch is unsteady and I got about ten inches from my destination when it tipped over and stained the edge of the carpet.
I have become extremely good at fitting objects into pockets, bras, the boot and my gob, to enable me to move items from room to room. I tried carrying a shoulder bag but it just swung around perpetually hitting either me or the crutch and was very, very annoying.

3.The time I was at a potential suitor's house and as I was coming out of the toilet and into a room full of people, my crutch slipped on the water dripping from my washed hands and I fell over. Properly. I wont elaborate on this, it's too painful to recall. Lets just say it's hard to get back up off the floor with crutches.

4. Watching a spider climb into my bandages and not being able to reach around to try and stop it due to lack of ankle movement. Feeling a paranoid tickling feeling in different areas of my foot, (including my healing wound) for hours later. Having thoughts of a million baby spiders hatching inside my wound and pooping in my blood. Update: spider has still not re-emerged.

5. Feeling that, although the crutches minimise food intake, I might get incredibly fat just lying/sitting around all day, and envisioning my future in a documentary in which they have to cut me out of my chair and use a crane to lift me out of my house due to extreme obesity.

6. Getting Drunk - Having nothing to do means getting drunk is a more frequent activity. Not super drunk - just tipsy enough to find things amusing. This is fine when done from the safety of my own (Mother's) home, but if I am taken on an outing that requires using my crutches after a few drinks, I am extremely unsteady. Luckily, no one imagines me to be drunk at midday on a Tuesday so, people assume I'm wobbly because of my injury, and not because I drank three double gin and tonics on an empty stomach and am now navigating my way back to the table with extra bad balance and battling through my own version of  The Beach montage, in which Leo is off his tits running through the jungle.

7. Dropping Things - If I drop something, or knock something off a counter, it's gone forever. I have found peace with the loss of many hairbands, snacks, coins. The risk of death whilst trying to balance and squat my way down to the floor is far too high. Now I just whisper "goodbye my friend, thanks for the memories" and move on with my life.

8. Social Life - My friends in Cardiff had already nicknamed me 'The Lone Wolf' for my flakiness and tendency to go off the grid for weeks at a time. But now I think they all suspect me dead. It's really hard to get about when you can't drive but also don't live in walking distance to public transport. "Have a drink for me" and "I'll catch you next time" are now saved templates in my messaging. Add to that the minimal phone signal at my house and I may as well be a myth. I will return to the real world next year, go on without me and await the Joey re-birth in 2017.

9. Dating - When your Tinder profile sells you as an active, enthusiastic outdoorsy type but in reality you can't walk, things get a bit awkward. Especially when a sit down date, looking at each other and eating is the most alien thing in the world to you. This results in me dribbling sauce on my chin and talking absolute shite nervously for an hour before awkwardly crutching off to the toilet and swearing under my breath at my complete, incomprehensible idiocy for thinking I could pull off a date in this state.

10. Jobs - Since I am apparently fit to work and therefore receive no disability benefits, I have pretty much been unemployed for seven months. I have applied for, and been offered no less than four jobs, all of which I have ultimately had to turn down because I have been told I need more surgery, or am unable to drive, or am too full of chemicals to be trusted in a work environment. Which leads me onto money. Oh money, I remember you, bits of paper and shiny coins deeming me able or unable to participate in the outside world, depending on that little minus sign on my bank app. I have become extremely thrifty in these trying times. I recently made bunting out of one of my dresses as a gift to a friend, because being naked seemed far more feasible thing than actually buying a present. I've lost all previous inhibitions about asking for more hot water for my pot of tea when I'm out. I am now getting pretty good at eating an entire meal stealthily out of my handbag when 'going out for lunch' -what's a bit of indigestion if I am able to save seven precious pounds? I'm about thirty more pounds into my overdraft from just lurking around cash points and hoping someone forgets to take their cash. Of course I'd have to shout after them for the sake of my crushing conscience, but hey, they might lob 2p at me in thanks/disgust.

Yes, it's been a bit shit, but seeing the funny side of it certainly helps. And other people having a laugh at my expense is somehow more comforting than sympathy. So big thanks to; Nia and Tess, who find me a constant source of comedy, Mum who nearly pissed herself when I dropped an entire bag of frozen peas on the floor and then nearly fell over them, Dad who calls a cripple and gives me a paralysing leg squeeze at every opportunity, and my nephew who calls me Jo-bot and tries to get me to chase him, all the time cackling at my pathetic inability to keep up. You all rock.

I will also take this opportunity to acknowledge a man who I once witnessed running, yes RUNNING on crutches. James Kitto, you are an inspiration to us all.

Learning to Duck-Dive

In times of darkness you learn wonderful things.

It's been over five months since I fell off a cliff and smashed my heel into dust. Two operations, heaps of physio, endless moments of joy followed by endless bouts of sadness and a continuous and testing mental battle later, I am starting to see some improvements. I never could have imagined the emotional baggage this injury would bring with it, and I could never have imagined who would and wouldn't show up to support me.

I expected with such a gargantuan task ahead of me that the smaller hurdles in life would seem like mere grit in the road, but if anything it has magnified them. Heartbreak quadruples in size, and the echos of it seem just as loud, family arguments seem to sting more than ever before, having a spot has made me cry. Everything is harder when you're hurting - you feel like you're paddling against a never-ending set of monster waves, and you can't seem to duck-dive.

But, through this impossibly trying time I have discovered something that has genuinely touched me and brought light to my pain. Because despite the difficulties in life being magnified, so too have the joys of life. Sunshine seems to bring electricity to my skin and possibility into my mind. A smile from a stranger seems to be a float to hold onto. But the most notable thing is the genuine happiness I have found in other peoples happiness. Seeing a friend on their travels makes me smile to myself. Witnessing a kiss between two people in love brings me a sense of relief and joy I can't properly explain. Someone finishing their exams or a stranger smiling at their phone lifts my mood. And acknowledging the happiness it brings me, brings me even more. It is a magical thing to see in yourself - the ability to feel joy in other people's good fortune. It is an astounding feat of human capacity that gives me faith in us. Knowing my ability to love and care for others has been a way to give love and support to myself. It gives the world an air of possibility, it gives me some energy to keep paddling against those waves, and to encourage and support others in their own personal ocean.


There are times when I feel helpless, angry and frustrated with what has happened, and every now and again I have to drive to the water and release that energy into the comforting sound of the relentless waves. But my ability to cope with those feelings is ever-increasing and that growing emotional strength whispers to me the promise of a brighter day. It teaches me how to duck-dive.

So if you're having a shitty moment and you can't find the mental strength to push through, look around and try to find happiness in those around you.

JoJo 

Out of the Darkness

Last night I didn't dream of falling, which is kind of a bloody big deal. I did, however, dream of being in a female insane asylum, where some lady's multiple personality actually turned into another person, its skinny body formed on her bottom bunk with lank hair and emaciated skin. But swings and roundabouts - I guess there's still some dark stuff lurking in there.

When I wrote my last post, I found myself at what is sometimes referred to as 'the bottom'. The overwhelming feeling of being alone was suffocating. Luckily for me I have some beautiful humans in my life, who rolled their sleeves up, pulled their hair back and dove head-first into the thick, bitter, syrupy darkness I was sinking in, and helped me to swim to the surface, all the time showing me  that the 'me' I thought was gone, had simply got a little lost. The boot is now off and I've been told to apply a little weight through the foot, with about another month to go before I'll be walking. The end is still a little way off, but knowing this is the last leg of the race is very encouraging. 

Looking forward, I will be moving JoJo Goes Public to a snazzy new website with all my old posts on as well as new ones, so keep an eye out that. I will also be working from home, writing blogs and other copy for small businesses, whilst laying the foundations for my dream job as an outdoor activity instructor - something that I was once told to forget after the accident, but am now reassured I can still achieve (with a bit of patience and hard work getting my foot back to normal). So, things are suddenly a lot less dreary than they seemed not so long ago. It's amazing what a few encouraging words and a change in perspective can do. 

So, this is just a short post to say thank-you to everyone who sent nice messages or called or wrote me a letter or sent a card. It was pretty special to receive such a supportive response for what could have seemed a very self-indulgent post. It was really reassuring to know how many people had felt exactly the same way, and how they had come out on the sunnier side of it.

Thank you to my wonderful friends who understood my crazy, desperate mood was my way of communicating that I felt lost and alone, and for not just ignoring it because it might have been an uncomfortable beast to square up to. Thanks for knowing how much I hate to admit I'm struggling, and how far down I had sunk to write a whole bloody blog post about it. Thanks for understanding that I have once again left my heart in Australia, and how much harder this injury has been because of that.

The roller-coaster of the last two months is not one I want to ride again, but it is no doubt a testament to all the incredible people I have around me, holding me up when my wonky foot can't.

I'm looking forward to a year of regaining my strength and working towards a happy and fulfilling future, as well as attempting to repay all the kindness shown to me in this strange and challenging time.

JoJo 

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I fell off a cliff and my mind hurts

It's been almost two months since I fell off a cliff and smashed my heel into dust. Yes it hurt - like having molten metal burning you from the inside out, yes I lost my tan, yes I missed almost all my planned trip with people I really care for. All of that stuff fucking sucks balls (which actually isn't that bad) and made me cry and feel minging, but the worst thing by a thousand miles was when the pain subsided. Post surgery and back home in a boot: unable to get around, exercise, work, and unable to really socialise, I am losing my mind.

I am an active, outdoorsy person and in one moment of wrong footing I have had that all taken out from underneath me. I have had some very dark times since being back home, and it's hard to admit that because, although my injury is a nasty one, it's nothing compared to what many people have to endure. There is an embarrassment attached with admitting that I'm struggling, that I feel lost without a purpose, that I feel humiliated because I can't wash myself or get myself a drink.

I made it to the kitchen the other day and sat on the counter and made myself a cup of tea. It was exhausting but I felt such a sense of independence in doing something for myself, only to realise I couldn't carry my tea anywhere, because I'm non-weight bearing on crutches. I moved to sit on the floor with my tea and cried big, fat, sobbing, snotty tears. The simplest of things have been taken from me, and in that moment all the forced positivity just collapsed around me.

This injury may not be life threatening or disfiguring, but it has gotten to me and at times has made me feel like I'm going insane. It has made me irrational and irritable, made me feel helpless and empty and caused me to lose my sense of self.

The event of my fall, and subsequent injury was horrible and traumatic. And, two months on I still dream of falling every single night; my heart dropping, and my mouth filling with saliva as that familiar dead-weight impact reverberates around my brain. But it is the endless emptiness of my days and my complete incompetence at everyday tasks, the echoing loneliness and the sense of life moving on without me that is the hardest to bear.

I have wonderful friends and family around me, who make things easier and who cheer me up and who so obviously care about me and my well being. And although I do feel better than I did last week or the week before that, other people are simply not enough because the very thing I'm missing is me.

I don't believe in fate or destiny or things happening for a reason, but I do believe that I will have learned a lot from this seemingly never-ending nightmare, even if I can't see what that might be right now.

Welcome back, Joey

I've been back in Australia for just over two weeks now. It's been really special to be back with old friends, old haunts and the beautiful views and environments that framed my life here. Of course this is to be predicted. But something unusual struck me on that first day when I got to the beach, my jet lag blurring the edges of my focus. It wasn't happiness, or the excitement for the months to come that hit me the hardest, it was a sense of overwhelming relief.  Relief wasn't an emotion I was particularly expecting. But there it was, it's energy firing through my entire being, forcing itself through my veins at a rapid speed, illuminating all the fibres of life that had been lying dormant for the last year. It was a strange feeling to come to terms with, and it made a few decisions for me there and then.

The last year at home has been one of healing. It's been a year of realising that to stay above the surface I have to be paddling relentlessly. In the final few months I really did start to feel like myself again and the year wasn't without it's positives. My oldest friend and I had fallen out of closeness over the last five years, and although we both knew the love was always there, we didn't talk that much and didn't know the intimate goings on of each others lives. Last year that old friend saw me in my struggle to stay afloat and made it her mission to teach me how to swim. It is emotional even now to think about the love and support she unfailingly gave me, when her world was falling apart, when her problems were so much more terrifying than mine. I can never, ever thank her enough for that. She is my unofficial sister and my superhero. The rebuilding of that friendship brought me an immeasurable amount of happiness and gratitude for the life I have.

I did some other fun stuff this year, one of which was spending some time with a couple. I met them on valentines day and we instantly connected, sharing many common interests and the same sarcastic sense of humour. At a time when my heart was still broken it was beautiful to be able to see love in its purest and most perfect form, between two wonderful people. To some people being with a couple might seem to be the worst idea for someone with a broken heart, but in them allowing me into their world, I was able to remember the utter bliss and companionship that love brings. It's like art - looking at it brings you joy and being an observer to their love brought me happiness and reassurance. It gave me hope and I am forever grateful to them both for allowing me to share in all that they are. The den making, the dinners, the fire alarm incident and all the beautiful little things in between that make up a relationship are moments I will treasure forever.

I also made some very special friends, people who I never would have crossed paths with if my life had gone the way I had hoped it would. I am not a believer in fate or 'everything happens for a reason' but I am so happy that the road I took lead me to meet people who have filled my life with happiness and friendship, support and sister-ship. Buppy I love you.

So, I sit here now at an internet shop (hoping the person sat next to me doesn't feel too unnerved by what she sees on my screen) and I ask myself the big question - "What now?".

The answer to me is in the relief, it's in the people who tell me I belong here, it's in the sense of feeling I am home whilst living out of a backpack. It is having tonsillitis and not still not wanting to go back to the UK, even though a cuddle off my Mumma would be wonderful.

I have found home.

I will be returning to Wales at the end of January with a new mission - to save enough money for a student visa, and to hopefully come back in January 2017 to find myself a place and to start my life here again. But as anyone who makes plans will know, plans don't always go the way you..well...planned. And that is something I've learned in recent years -  things change - people and situations and opinions and opportunities change and morph and move, and so do we. So, who knows, something might change that plan, my life might veer wildly in the opposite direction, and that's okay too, because you have to adapt to all of those changes with energy and curiosity. The world is out there and it is wonderful.

All for now,

JoJo 

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