I’ve managed to use the last of my money and scrape enough for a UK flight. One way. I’m going to miss my children desperately. They’re my only reason for living. Without them, I’m nothing.
But I can’t carry on down this path of destruction. I have lost everything and I have nothing else. I can’t see a way out of the storm and I’m so tired. I hope that being home I can rest, I can grieve and I can find myself again. I’m failing as a mother all the time now. I can’t keep letting my kids down. One day, I want them to be proud of me. At the moment it hurts to breathe. I can’t imagine ever enjoying life again.
So I leave next week. The warewolves in NZ won’t be able to get me there, although I have plenty of demons I need to excorcise in the UK. Strangely that seems easier to comprehend right now.
I will return to my babies when the time is right. I have not given up on NZ. But right now, it’s not my home. I’m miserable and I’m not niave, that will follow me home. In fact for at least the first few weeks I know I’ll be inconsolable. But it’s a tidal wave of grief that needs to be felt and nurtured. I don’t belong anywhere. But at least I can find solace in where I originate from.
I don’t know if it’s the right or the wrong thing. I can’t trust my judgement, I can’t handle decisions. I’m overwhelmed and over wrought. But I’m doing the only thing that makes sense. I’ve hit so many blocks, there comes a time when picking up and starting over no longer works, even for the strongest. Something needs to give. I only hope with all my heart that a few weeks away will give me some peace and the ability to find my fight again.