From the shadows on the far side of the glade, motion. Within the darkness, muddled shapes in various shades of grey and black shifted and changed, and resolved into the image of a black-clad man – tall, powerfully built. Her man, DuQuesne – the one she had been hoping to see. He stepped into the light, the sun glinting on the many silver strands in his otherwise dark hair, and her breath caught in her throat as he smiled at her and quickened his pace to close the distance between them.

“Hello, dearest Lady – it has been too long since last we met. Only a few days, but still – far, far too long, when each second away from you hangs heavy as eternity upon my heart, deprived of your smile, your laugh, the light in your eyes, the touch of your lips on mine.”

So saying, he drew her into his arms and kissed her – a soft, gentle touch of his lips on hers. He lifted her face and bestowed more of the same on eyes and cheek and forehead, then, tucking her head in its accustomed place under his chin and reveling in the delicious scent of her sun-warmed hair, he held her, his arms enfolding her and drawing her close to his chest.

“I hoped you would be here, but did not expect it to be so” she replied. “I had feared that there were too many enemies on your trail, too many snares and traps to avoid, and that my hope would be just a false dream. I have missed you so.”

His arms tightened about her, and his mouth again found hers – the kiss altogether different this time as their need for each other found release in its expression. For several long moments they embraced, mouths hungry for each other, bodies pressed close as they strove to feel the touch of that which they had hungered, ached for and been deprived of for so long.

Carolynn suddenly broke away as she remembered. “A gift, beloved,’ she offered in response to his quizzical look. “Something to aid you on your journeys, to keep you safe and ease your way as you tread the many paths of this forest.”

She returned to her horse and retrieved a package from one of the saddlebags. She offered it to him, a girlish smile upon her lips. He took the package from her and, as he opened it, smiled broadly in return as he drew out a pair of sturdy boots of remarkably fine workmanship. The cause of his joy at such a gift was not hard to determine, as the briefest of glimpses at his current boots would reveal that they had seen better days, and those a long time ago, being now in a tragic state of tattered, hard-used disrepair.

“Thank you, my darling – my poor tortured feet shall sing your praises at the end of each day if these are a tenth as comfortable as they look”.
Grinning like a boy himself he sat on the ground, removed his old boots and replaced them with his new gifts. Carolynn watched expectantly, a mischievous smile quirking the corners of her mouth.

DuQuesne stood, flexed his toes within the new boots and took an experimental step or too. An expression of surprise, then wonderment, crossed his face. The first few steps became several more, then even more, and then he ran, jumped, slipped into a stealthy stalking creeping gait before spinning and looking back to Carolynn, who was now openly laughing.

“Amazing, my darling. Truly amazing. I thought at first that these were some of the most comfortable new boots I have worn – from the first they seemed made just for me, and perfectly worn in, almost as if I had been wearing them for days already. But within a few steps I could feel them change – mold themselves to me, become more than comfortable – perfect, as if they were part of me. I would hazard a guess that they are more than they appear – so, what mischief have you been up to?”

“No mischief, my love. Just looking out for my own interests – principally that of keeping you safe and well. These boots are the result of the arts of a wise woman I heard of – they are of fine quality to begin with but have been enhanced with some minor, but clever, enchantments to aid their utility. I am assured by her that they will fit perfectly, always – even YOUR large feet…” and she giggled, again girlish in her mirth.
“…and moreover, my love, they will give you a sure grip as you walk, no matter how slippery or unsteady the surface.’Twould be a great shame if I were never to see you again because you lost your footing at some inopportune moment on a slippery cliffside trail, or dodging the point of some ruffian’s blade, now, would it not?”

He looked at her, his smile softening into an expression of deepest affection. Reaching for her he raised her hands to his lips, kissed her fingers softly, his eyes never leaving hers.

“My thanks, beloved. For the comfort these will bring me, I thank you. For aiding me to live another day, that I may yet see you and hold you in my arms again, I thank you more. For being you, I thank you most of all; that I should be so fortunate to know and be loved by you.”

A swift tug at her arms brought her close enough to grasp her shoulders and pull her close for another kiss. His hands caressed her arms, rose to her face and held her, fingers laced behind her head as he drew her closer, mouths seeking new contact, lips and tongues playing gentle games of sweet, tantalizing sensation. He tipped back her head and kissed her neck, her shoulders, the rough stubble of several days unshaven growth on his face rasping lightly against her delicate skin, sending shivers of delight through her as she reveled in every aspect of his touch.

He pulled back slightly from her, gazed fondly into her eyes as his fingers ruffled aimlessly but tenderly through her hair.
“Again, my lady, I thank you for your gift.” He laughed suddenly, and once again the spark of boyish merriment lit his eyes. “Let us see, then, what these new boots are like in earnest. Come, lady – attend!”

He stepped back quickly as she watched him expectantly. He stretched, slowly, purposefully, raising each arm in turn, rotating and flexing them to loosen the muscles, twisting slowly to and fro from the waist, leaning into a slow, deliberate lunge to stretch his legs.

Carolynn watched, her breath quickening in anticipation – she had seen this many times before and knew what was coming.

Limbering exercises complete, he returned to an upright stance, facing her. She watched as he closed his eyes briefly, composing himself, readying himself not only in body but in mind for what was to come. His hands, at rest at his sides, moved to the hilt of sword and dagger and paused. His eyes opened, the last hint of a smile left his lips and a more intent expression, tinged with darkness and emanating a hint of danger, almost of anger, replaced it. Carolynn’s heart pounded, her mouth dry, lost in rapt fascination at the transformation occurring before her eyes.

In a smooth fluid motion almost too quick to see, sword and dagger were drawn; dagger to guard, sword at ready to attack or parry as required. She could see his body tense, muscles shifting beneath his clothes as he began moving, circling, facing off an imaginary opponent. His sword cut the air as he began to go through the motions of his drill – swift, slashing strokes that sent flashes of sunlight glinting off the blade in great silver arcs – cut, thrust, parry, riposte; dagger moving in perfect counterpoint to block or stab. With each flurry of strokes he moved across the grass – forward to the attack, swift back- or side-steps on the defense, slow and quick lunges, slides, spins, faster, ever faster, blades in ceaseless motion, air whistling in protest as the blades ripped through it – and never a misstep, nor hint of stumble.

As quickly as he had begun, he stopped, the only hint of his exertion a slight rapidity of breath. He looked slowly around the glade, searching for something new to put himself to the test, smiling – not kindly or affectionately as before, but with a harsh, savage grimace of satisfaction when he saw a familiar rocky outcrop. Without warning he broke into a sprint, bolting toward the rocks. Mid-stride with no discernable break in rhythm he dropped into a sliding roll, regained his feet in one swift motion facing back the way he had come, blades flashing to wreak havoc on his imaginary foe before turning again and resuming his headlong rush to the rocks. A leap and he was upon them, running over the loose stones, jagged edges and uneven crevices, climbing until he reached the high point of the jumbled mass of stones. Again his blades came to life, and as they carved their sun-spangled paths through the air he leaped and stepped and lunged from one precarious foothold to the next until, finally, breathless at last, he stood still, chest heaving, blades at half-guard.

Carolynn, somewhat breathless herself but for vastly different reasons, walked slowly toward him across the glade, leading their horses. As she re-tied them to a nearer tree, she watched him, a familiar expression of mingled admiration, love and – let it be said – raw animal lust upon her face – a look mirrored in no small part in the eyes of the subject of her gaze. Withdrawing a blanket and a small bundle of food from another of the saddlebags she walked closer to the rocks where DuQuesne stood, waiting.

His breathing milder now, he watched her. The hint of a smile on his face lost its savage edge and returned to the earlier, softer one of mirthful affection. With the slightest flick of his wrists, sword and dagger were sent whirling high into the air and with a slight run and leap he left the rocks in an athletic dive and roll, landing lightly on his feet with outstretched arms. His tumbling blades fell neatly into his hands and were sheathed in a flash. The smile became a grin, followed by a laugh.

Carolynn placed the blanket and food on the ground before him, joined him in his laughter as she favoured him with some ironic applause.

“Bravo, dearest one – most impressive”.

He made an ostentatious bow before her. “We aim to please, my lady.”

“Oh, and you do – you always do – in many ways” she said with a somewhat arch inflection to her voice, feeling an inward thrill of satisfaction as she saw him respond to the tone, his breath catching slightly, his gaze locking on hers. “After that acrobatic effort, I’m sure that you must need food and drink to restore your strength for ” and she paused, almost but not quite imperceptibly ” other things.” And was again rewarded by the play of expression in his eyes.

Taking a skin of wine she filled a cup and passed it to him. He drank, watching her all the while; lowered the cup, that same old affectionate smile on his lips that she knew and loved so well. A small wayward drop of wine rolled down his chin; on a whim she stepped closer to him and slowly licked it from his skin.

The effect was immediate, dramatic. He tensed, a new light coming into his eyes, a new edge to his smile. The cup dropped from his hand, the last dregs of wine splashing as it hit the ground at their feet. Her breath caught in her throat again as he reached for her, pulled her hard against him. His fingers knotted in her hair as he tipped her head back to receive the kiss – not soft, tender, or tentative this time, no – hungry, fiercely needy, his lips on hers, tongue probing her mouth as he crushed her body against him.
Her hands went to his back, felt the hard, knotted muscles there under her fingers, and as the fire burned through her she wanted to feel his skin under her fingers, not through cloth. She pulled away from the kiss – replaced her mouth on his neck and nibbled and bit not so gently over his skin – the sharp stubble rough against her lips, the salt tang of his fresh, clean sweat tingling upon her tongue. She kissed lower – trailing down his neck to his chest, fingers scrabbling at the fastenings of his shirt, pulling it open, her hands running over his chest, the feel of hair and skin under her fingers sending a hot rush of desire through her. Her hands pulled his shirt open more and resumed their roaming over his body as she continued to kiss him, running her lips and tongue across his chest, the thick mat of hair tickling her face. Her searching mouth found the firm bare skin of his nipple and she teased it with her tongue, her hands moving lower now, down and down until she felt him growing hard under her touch. She heard his breath coming in ragged gasps and her heartbeat quickened in sympathy, imagining how he was feeling, growing excited herself at the effect she was having on him. Her hands were busy now – one undoing his pants as the other caressed him, running up and down the length of the ever-hardening shaft beneath her grasping fingers – and suddenly she had him uncovered and her hands met his flesh and continued their motion. He shuddered under her touch as she dropped to her knees and took him in her mouth.
His fingers roamed through her hair, caressing, grasping. She shuddered slightly; feeling that burning hardness enter her mouth, her lips and tongue at work on him, sending wave after wave of pleasure through him, sent her own heart racing, a slow, delicious tingle beginning to burn inside her as well in anticipation of what was to come.

If ages hence the sun grows cold,
The stars no longer shine,
Yet warmth and light I will still hold
so long as you are mine.

From a promising beginning it has become an absolute whirlwind romance – hell, whirlwind doesn’t go close – it’s a hurricane, a big one. An outstanding recommendation for online dating sites – RSVP, in particular, since that’s how we connected. A note from her, an email response from me, a phone call, another phone call, MANY phone calls and text messages. The first face to face meeting – lunch together and idle chat, in which an immediate emotional connection was made. More calls and texts, and a dinner together, with much talk, much laughter, and much obvious growing closer. A slow walk together, an awkward good-night kiss and a few follow-up texts joking about the awkwardness. Another lunch date, another kiss – not at ALL awkward, but toe-curling, heart-thumping and altogether magical. The realisation that, in a matter of a week or so, we had gone from strangers to teetering on the edge of being in love. Discovering that meeting each other for lunch or whatever meant parting at some point, and discovering that “good-bye” is a word neither of us like – oh, the verbal acrobatics we go through finding things to say to avoid that last parting, that separation, that actual utterance of “good-bye”.

The first time I went to her home – a quiet, cozy night where we would talk, and cuddle on the couch, watch a movie together – that was the intent. Met by her at her door, I walked inside, held her face in my hands and kissed her, put my arms around her and drew her close to me and kissed her some more; felt her melt against me and return the kiss. And when we finally drew apart, it wasn’t like the first time we’d come together in such an embrace – it was like the thousandth; like coming home, like finding an old love and rediscovering them again, not finding them for the first time. And we started thinking that what we had going here was special. That night was wonderful – not a lot of watching the movie; a great deal of talking, pouring our hearts out, lying wrapped in each others arms and teaching each other old ways and new of kissing, growing closer.

We’ve spent as much time as we could manage together since then – not so easy with both of us working, both of us with children. We’ve gone out with the kids together, and all had fun. We’ve met each other for coffee or a meal, and spent a few nights together. We’ve talked – and talked, and talked – there is so much joy in discovering the details of each other’s lives, of sharing the good times and the bad, of just getting to know each other. And the more we learn, the more it is apparent that we DO have something special growing here.

I’ve been in love before – too many times, without it being reciprocated. Once, with it lasting too short a time, in real terms, to be replaced by obligation, dependency, habit, duty – my disaster of a marriage. Another time, with impossible obstacles of distance, age, an existing marriage on shaky grounds and, to be honest, a girl who mostly played at being in love and used me as a convenient, and ultimately disposable, stop-gap to fill the empty places in her life when her husband couldn’t, until someone more accessible (and, to be more honest, probably far more suitable) came along.

And now, my darling Alana – who, against all odds, is so much what I have wanted, and needed, for so long and who has, like a bolt out of the blue, finally found me. And I love her completely – when we are together, it just feels “right” in a way that defies description. We are so alike in many ways – our outlook on life, and children, and love, and many things. So different in other ways – ways that make our time together interesting, things we have different, or opposing, views of and can enjoy discussing or arguing over, and have fun doing it. Similarities in some of the difficulties we’ve had with prior partners, with loved ones lost, with feelings of loneliness and need for someone to love. And she’s misguided enough to see me as handsome; quirky enough to laugh at my strange sense of humour; generous in her love and affection, recognising and appreciating the things I do for her to show my love, and taking pleasure in showing me how much she loves me through her words and her actions.

It’s not all smooth sailing – we’ve had our first serious disagreement, a bad, painful incident where through mischance we both said and did things that touched on particularly sensitive triggers for each other’s anger at the same time (in her case, jealousy over perceived residual feelings for the oh so distant prior object of my affections [unjustified, I might add]) and in my case, hypersensitivity to having a phone hung up mid-conversation and refusal to answer afterward (one of my ex-wife’s favourite tactics and something which now just immediately tips me into a rage). But we talked over that in patches (hehe – a few heated text messages to get things going after the silly woman wouldn’t answer her phone and a bit more reasonable email and voice dialogue the next day), and a few days down the path we’re already able to laugh about it all. I think there’ll probably be a few stormy patches as we go forward – but I think we’ll get past them, and the making up afterward is going to be both enjoyable, and ultimately strengthening to the relationship.

So – I’ve been busy. I’m in love and enjoying it; I have found the woman I intend to make my new life partner and I’m reveling in the ongoing process of discovering more about her to love each time we talk, each time we meet. Life is good.

The old – a long, complex friendship with an equally complex girl, which at times has wobbled in its course from friendship, to love, to obsession and back. There’ve been entertaining times along the way, good times, bad times, strange times, wonderful times – laughter, tears, confusion, anger, and not a moment of it I would have missed. She’s an incredible girl – fascinating, captivating, infuriating at times, magical at others, but never dull. There are few like her, and I doubt I’ll ever meet anyone close to her in terms of how she touches my heart, my mind, my soul. And lately, I’ve come closer than I want to know to losing her completely, but I didn’t, and for that, I’m glad.

We’ve agreed that the friendship needs to have some new boundaries defined to survive, and I think at last we’ve agreed what those boundaries should be. And so we move forward, and I hope, with luck, and care, I can keep my friend by my side, far away yet so close in the ways that count most, forever my dearest friend, for all the days of my life.

The new – I’ve met a woman who, like me, is lonely, and misses having someone to share the time with. Like me, she’s divorced, has two children, and an empty place in her life that she’s decided she’d like to fill again. We’ve exchanged letters, talked on the phone, shared a meal and discovered we make each other laugh, we enjoy each other’s company. I like the way a smile looks on her face, and it feels good to know I can put it there. I’m starting to enjoy the sound of her laughter, and I’m lucky in that I seem to be able to make her laugh. And it feels good to be around her. So we’re going to see some more of each other, spend some more time together and see if we can build a friendship, and maybe more, with time. We’re having dinner together next Tuesday, a way to have a reason to sit, and talk, and get to know each other.

The long twisting path of my life has reached a waypoint. A path that touched mine at one point, tangled and twisted its edges with mine then took a turn away, has come back and runs alongside me – not joined, but not too distant. Another that came in unexpectedly is converging with mine, and although how it runs up ahead is not yet clear, it looks like it may run close, may touch or even join with mine. I’ll have to walk the path a bit further to see what happens – it should be interesting.

So we made up for it a bit today. Alex gave me a hand-made birthday card – she’s drawn a really good picture of a tiger and cub, and a downright spooky-looking sabretooth lion, and a stack of feline paw-prints, and some free-style artistic embellishment around the edges. Very, very nice card – it’ll be going into the drawer where I keep all the cute stuff they write, draw or make for me.

Connor, blasted child, asked if he could share Alex’s card – too cheap to buy one, too lazy to draw one himself. Mr Sentimental.

We had a pretty good day – we’ve just hung out together – took them out to get some frivolous food of dubious nutritional value but high entertainment potential to eat, went to a few different parks and playgrounds – just piled on the “dad and kids” quality time. So it’s been a pretty good day today.

Token grumble – wouldn’t have hurt a certain incommunicado long-distance friend to have taken a few seconds to drop me an email for Christmas, New Year or birthday – fair enough, got issues of her own right now but it’s making it more and more obvious where I fit in her priorities. She might like to remember that no matter how bad things were for me at various times with work, kids, Jane and whatever, and no matter how much she messed around with my head over things, I never turned my back on her at any point, never shut her out or ignored her.

So – had to be there by 09:30, right? Got my drafts of affidavits, response document etc emailed from solicitor the previous night. Spent 2 hours fixing up the typos, dodgy grammer, errors of fact etc (WHY am I paying them a fortune, one asks?), queued up my three required copies of each on the printer and loaded it up with paper and let it all print out overnight.

Up at 05:30 to give myself plenty of time. Alex wakes up and decides she wants company, so she’s my little shadow through breakfast etc – wants cuddles, wants to talk – all nice, but slows me down a bit. Get away just before 07:00. Get into Parramatta about 08:30, up at Federal Court at 08:40. Find that there is no JP on duty that day until 10, which is a real problem since my documents have to be sworn and witnessed (JP = Justice of the Peace, for you merkins – what you’d call a Notary Public or similar). They tell me that either the Children’s Court across the road, or the Local Court down the road a bit, open their office at 9 and MAY have a JP on. Try the Children’s Court first – open the bloody office at 09:05 but claim to be too busy. So a quick jog down the road to the Local Court – YAY! JP there – with another person first though, so I twiddle my thumbs until 09:15. We then go through the tedium of signing all 10 pages of my affidavit IN TRIPLICATE. Head back to Federal Court, go and get ticket for queeuing system and wait my turn to get documents filed and stamped. By now it’s 09:35 so I hare up the stairs to the courtroom where we’re listed to front up to the registrar.

So – let the clerk know I AM actually there – wait 10 minutes to be called in. Jane and her solicitor and I front up at our desk – registrar reads the details, confirms there are outstanding matters and flick-passes us to one of the on-duty Federal Court magistrates. Out we go and back into wait-mode for our turn. It’s now around 10:00.

About 11:00 we go in to see the magistrate. Introductions, Jane’s solicitor offers estimate of time to hear the matter at 1 hour, magistrate says ok, can’t hear it THEN, one hte list for later that day as time permits. Back outside to go back into wait-mode.

At around 13:00 magistrate adjourns for his lunch break – we are, of course, still waiting. Had decided to be as civil as possible to Jane to try to get som cooperation out of her – asked if she wanted to have lunch with me so we went and grabbed samdwiches and coffee. Back at the court at 14:00. Called in for hearing at 14:30 – take about 10 minutes to observe a few formalities and then magistrate confirms that he’ll have to read affidavits so adjourn again while he does so. about 15:15 we go back in, whereupon her proceeds to tear strips off Jane’s solicitor over what he describes as “serious disclosure issues”. What the problem was is that Jane has mentioend her two stays in hospital, but has glossed over any detail – no mention of her actual mental state, no mention of the fact that she was an involuntary patient committed via a court order on the second isntance, no details of diagnosis etc. Asks them a series of closed questions along the lines of: Does Jane agree she was admitted involuntarily? Did she understand WHY she had been hospitalised? Was a diagnosis made? And a few open questions such as: What was her state of mind (psychotic / manic – she admitted to manic but will have to own up to both down the track). Diagnosis (she said “possible bipolar disorder” but medical records wheich they will have to produce won’t be quite so equivocal on that matter). He concluded by basically telling the solicitor that he was in no position to make even an interim ruling given the amount of information they had failed to disclose and told her flat out that they were effectively wasting his time. Got the customary apology from the solicitor, who looked and sounded a bit sick at that point.

Outcome for the day – nothing achieved, other than to get an adjournment until 26 March. Jane and her counsel have been ordered to make a full disclosure of her mental health issues – including subpoena of her hospital records and admission into evidence. I, becasue I have alleged several instances of Jane hitting and otherwise abusing the kids, have been ordered to lodge a formal Notice of Abuse within 7 days (wonderful – more time burnt with the $300/hour solicitor probably, unless I can do it myself – at least forms are downloadable from the Fed Court website). And he’s ordered seperate legal representation for the kids, which is good.

About the only good things after a long, annoying day hanging around the courthouse – I get another 2 months space with the kids before having to worry about this again – and hopefully time to get my legal aid application approved so I get some funding support for the cost; Jane is already very much behind the 8-ball with troublesome issues about her state of mental health and fitness to care for the kids already very much out in the open and being given a lot of focus; and the longer this goes on and the longer the kids remain with more the more compelling case for a stable status quo to exist I can offer, making it even less likely that Jane will be able to make any sort of case to have them removed and returned to her.

I’m so sick of it all – I’ll be glad when it’s over. If it ever is – she’ll keep on being difficult one way or another until hell freezes over.

I’ll be self-represented today – in the interests of saving money I’m not paying $300/hour for 3 hours travelling time simply to GET to the court, let alone actually DO anything there. I’ve taken advice on how to proceed and will just handle the rest myself. Shouldn’t be a problem – I’m fairly well organised and articulate. Wish me luck, anyway, guys – it’s important for this to go well – I need to keep the kids with me where they’ll be safe, and for my own emotional well-being.

Update again later after the hearing.

My father was an alcoholic, and it apparently turned him from a likable, happy young man into the bad-tempered, surly, unlovable ruin that was all I ever saw him to be. It is all too likely that I could go the same way, taking genetics into consideration – one reason I have always steered clear of alcohol. Maybe I could drink and it wouldn’t get the better of me – who knows? Best to play it safe and not risk it though.

I suspect I have what some people would call an “addictive personality” – I can develop a fascination, and then a dependency, on things of many sorts. I could get thoroughly out of hand with online games – but keep them at the point where they are useful entertainment and emotional release and distraction – but no more. I can walk away from them when they conflict with things that need to be done; I do have other ways of deriving pleasure and spending idle time.

There is one addiction / compulsion, though, that has always been, and probably always will be, a major challenge for me to deal with. Food. Eating. Too much, and the wrong stuff.

I blame genetics and upbringing for getting me off on the wrong path. My mother, and her father, both had life-long problems with obesity and poor eating habits. My grandfather developed diabetes and had to make some modifications to his diet and lifestyle, with varied success. Both of them tended to use food as solace, as comfort, and passed those attitudes along to me nnd my brothers. And two of the three of us have had problems with overeating, and weight, since early teens.

I have nothing like a reasonable attitude to food. To start with, as I’ve observed before, I am at heart a sensualist – I revel in the stimulation of the senses for pleasure, be it sight, sound, touch or smell – but taste and food and the eating thereof for pleasure is my greatest weakness. In the dichotomy of “those who eat to live, and those who live to eat” I fall inarguably into the latter category, if left to follow my natural inclinations. Kept within reasonable limits, this would not be disastrous – many people take joy in food, and do not let it become their master. But for me, there are other challenges.

I’m one of those people with a huge physical capacity for food – a stomach that can hold truly obscene quantities of food before giving any faint trace of a hint of feeling full enough. And I love the experience of eating – the taste, the texture, the smell of food. And, be it real sensation, or quirk of psychology, I am ALWAYS hungry. The temptation of something that looks, or smells, nice is ALWAYS there, pulling at me.

Even worse – food is a source of comfort for me. The roots sown in my childhood by my mother offering food as a gesture of love, as a reward, as comfort when I was upset, have taken root and flourished like a poisonous patch of weeds. When I’m sad, or angry, or depressed, or just bored – that festering little demon in my mind whispers to me about how it will all feel so much better if I go and eat something. A lot of something. And generally the unhealthy fat-filled, sugar-ridden, energy rich / nutrition poor things that are so bad for you, but taste so good.

Chocolate, for one. Chocolate is my friend, my enemy, my lover, my nemesis. The taste, the texture, the smell – overpowering and delicious, irresistable. The psychological effect – the sybaritic pleasure of savouring each mouthful and wallowing in that pleasure, riding it, drowning in it to burn out the pain of loneliness, of anger, or whatever is chewing at my soul at that point, and the biochemical reaction of all those stimulated endorphins and neurotransmitters that chocolate works on. I can go totally out of control with chocolate – I jokingly say that the idea of “too much chocolate” is a null concept – but it’s not far from my real feelings.

Cola drinks – another weakness. The taste, the fizz, the bite on the tongue, the joy of the cold liquid sliding down my throat when I’m hot and thirsty, the buzz from the sugar and caffeine. Again – something I have found all too easy to turn to for a quick burst of pleasure as relief from something that is making me unhappy.

And the traditional “comfort foods” – all things stodgy and substantial, replete with starch and fat and all things that stimulate the taste and sit solidly in the stomach. Each, not just a means of nourishment, but a way to while away a few idle minutes, to forget about the annoyances, the distractions, the things that hurt – to put them all aside and get lost in the pleasure of the food, to let the taste and the smell and the feel of it in your mouth be the thing that fills your mind and not think about the things that hurt.

But it lasts for such a short time, and depression and loneliness don’t go away. And there’s always more to eat…

My grandfather died and my parents got divorced in the years just before I started high school. Add to that the fact that I was a fairly dysfunctional kid anyway, socially – big problems with a gigantic intellectual gap between me and age peers and vastly different interests so I had almost no common ground with anyone my age – and the first few years of high school were hell and I ate too much and got WAY too fat – which of course didn’t help my social issues at all, so a nice little feedback cycle was set up. Getting braces on my teeth helped temper some of the eating for a while, and a bit of self-discipline and increased ability to get along with people helped too, and I managed to lose a bit of weight over the last couple of years of high school. And a pattern soon became apparent thereafter – my weight and eating habits were a fairly accurate measure of how happy I was with my life. Things went good – my weight went down. Things went bad – the return of the blob.

I had a few good years – started work with Westpac in a job I loved, met people I got along with and made some friends – my eating was pretty much in control, although I had to fight against bad habits still, and I was in pretty good shape physically. And then I met Jane…

For a while, all was still good – the early times when we had fun, when I was in love with her and things were mostly OK. And then after we were an established couple, and her problematic behaviour become more of a burden – I found myself turning back to that old lover, always faithful and always waiting – food. And it got totally out of control, and my weight skyrocketed.

We went through some very bad patches, and I made many adjustments to my expectations and attitudes, and we reached something of a turning point where I had to decide whether to give up on the relationship or make a final commitment to accepting things as being as good as they were likely to get and just dealing with it – and I chose toughing it out, so we had Connor. And for a long time, he was enough for me – the joy in that baby and in being a father to him – no matter that it was hard work and stressful – it left no room at the time for anything bad enough to overpower that joy I took in him, and I managed to turn around my overeating and lose over 20kgs, getting back to close to my ideal healthy weight. And it helped that Jane, for a while, was also able to be happier with things now we had Connor – but then that faded, and she went back to her old ways, and eventually it got too much for me and I went back to some of MY old ways, and the eating got worse, and the weight started creeping up again.

And then we had Alex, and everything fell apart. Jane had a bout of post-natal depression that escalated into a major episode of extreme mood swings – what would later be diagnosed as bipolar disorder – and we had 6 months of sheer hell with her in a constant state of psychosis and refusing any sort of treatment, followed by a year of being relatively sane but just impossible to live with. And I responded in my usual way, and piled on all the weight I’d lost and a bit more. And later, when things turned really bad again, and she had another episode of extreme disturbance, the one that culminated in us splitting up, I got even worse and in the months just before and after we split up I sank into a severe, ongoing bout of depression and ate constantly.

And I don’t know where that would have ended up if not for two things – discovering Everquest, and finding Amanda. And in Everquest I found a somewhat less destructive outlet for my compulsive / addictive tendencies – something to get lost in and forget about all the sadness other than just by eating. And in Amanda I found someone who I liked and could talk to, someone who for whatever reason liked me, and who had some issues of her own that I could share with her and help her through, which helped me feel needed and useful again, and together we were able to have fun together, and share each others pain, and care about each other, and we became very good friends and together helped save each other from some evil pits of darkness that neither of us was strong enough to handle alone but together were able to help each other climb out of.

Since then, I’ve had some difficult times – mostly to do with Jane and the kids. I’ve had to change jobs, lost most of the high income I’ve been used to and had to make a lot of adjustments in lifestyle. There’ve been some good changes though – the job at Borders has been very good for me, and I’ve made some good friends there. The kids are with me, and while we still have some hurdles to clear there and it’s not easy by a long shot – I have far less to worry about with them when they’re here with me and not with Jane. And with these good things in my life, there’s come some other changes – changes in my ability to deal with my demons with food.

The temptation is still there. Always will be – I love food, and I love eating, and that’s just the way things are. The hunger is there – always. I cannot remember the last time I was ever not at least a little bit hungry – even after most big meals. The response to stress is still there – when things go bad, that evil little voice inside me STILL whispers to me about how it will all go away of I just find something nice to eat. But none of those things rule me any more.

There are, I guess, two reasons for this – or maybe one, with a couple of aspects. I got diagnosed with impaired glucose tolerance or diabetes – sort of in the arguable borderline between one or the other – enough, anyway, that it was necessary to make some significant changes to my eating habits or face some pretty evil health consequences. Now theoretically, with my being so overweight, I’ve known for ages that I needed to do SOMETHING or I’d eventually get sick or die – but having something like that, a bit more tangibly in my face, made it a bit more real. And that brought me to the next thing – the kids. They need me, and they need me for a long time – I owe it to them to stay healthy. And whereas I might not have the strength of will to defeat my demons for my own sake – I’ve found that doing it for them is quite a bit easier. I want to see them grow up. I want to be around to hold their hands and protect them for as long as they need me. And that desire seems to work for me to give me the strength to say “no” when that inner demon whispers soft blandishments of chocolate and potato chips and just plain mountains of food to me.

I’ve lost over 30kg in the last 2 years, never put back on more than 2 kg at any point and I’m still trending downward. My glucose response has pretty much returned to normal – I have to be careful what I eat, but the occasional indulgence in something sweet with a decent load of simple carbohydrates is supportable without dire consequences. And I’m always careful. I eat sensibly sized meals, for the most part – not the huge platefuls that I used to have, and still feel like. I eat better food – less sugars and other simple carbohydrates, more protein and complex carbohydrates. I accept the hunger, and the temptation, and acknowledge them, and deal with them. They are always there, but they no longer rule me.

Chocolate still calls to me, but I don’t always answer, and when I do it is a swift, small romance and not an extended orgy. Moderation, and control.

The kids are away with Jane, and I miss them, and I’m worried about them, and lonely. Amanda is still not talking to me, and I miss her dreadfully, and worry about her; I have the first court hearing over the kids on Friday, and I’ll soon owe the bloody lawyers a small fortune, and I have no idea whether I’ll have a job past early February. And I feel lonely, and worried, and miserable, and I know that if I just went and ate something for a little while it would feel better. But…

I have NOT spent the last few days eating everything I could lay my hands on – I’ve had my normal meals and not much else, although that inner demon has had a few whispers in my ears. I’m not listening. My stomach growls at me every now and then, just to let me know it’s got plenty of room should I feel like indulging. There’s plenty of food in the refrigerator and pantry, both good, healthy stuff and a lot of doubtful, but tempting, stuff too – and it’s staying there.

My father let the drink own him, rule him, and it ruined his life and cost him the love and respect of his children. If I let food rule me, I won’t be around when my kids need me; I won’t see them grow up. The seductive joy of eating calls to me – the life ahead of me with the kids calls stronger.

I spoke to him yesterday morning and he was quite adamant that he had had enough and wanted to come back home. Couldn’t speak to them again last night, since Jane had taken the phone off the hook – and it’s still that way now, so I can’t check how he’s feeling this morning. I guess I’ll just have to drive down and see what happens.

Oh well – should be another interesting thing to throw into the pot for consideration at the court hearing on Friday. I am so tired of it all, everything to do with Jane always being such an effort because she is so unreasonable and selfish and petty about everything. And I’m sick to death of being dragged into court again and again over things – between the divorce and the first few rounds of drama with the kids and subsequent maliciousness with restraining orders and other harassment she’s cost me somewhere between $30-40 thousand in legal fees. I’ve got debts that I don’t know how they’ll ever get paid – mostly now to my brother, who at least won’t give me a hard time over them, but it’s unfair on him having to wear those costs indefinitely. Money that would have been far better off being spent on the kids. And it’s so unfair that she’s had the benefit of legal aid, and borrowed against the value of the house that I paid for and she owns, and because most of the time I was working and earning reasonable money (a fair chunk of which went to her in child support) I just had to wear the legal costs myself. And there’s just never going to be any end to it – she won’t stop, no matter what happens. I’m just so tired. And, right now, so alone. I wish Amanda was talking to me. I wish I had someone to hold me and tell me everything would be OK. I’m just so sick of being alone.