mental-health

Chapter Two __ untitled

Before Hans headed out that evening he took the newly hotmixed road to the top of the hill, parked his most recently acquired sporty little car in the cul de sac, and scowled at the windrows of dead trees sitting above him on the piles of sand. Nothing of any importance came out of his mouth because the words he was thinking were so vile he did not wish to say them out loud.

It took some time to control himself but when he calmed down, just a little bit, he opened the car door, pulled on the old elastic-sided boots he’d placed on the passenger side floor, and got out. He closed the car door as gently as he was able to in this current mood, shoved a cap low on his head and trudged up the recently made sandhill to the very top of what remained of the ridge.

The tree still lay where he’d last seen it, not yet whirred up into tiny wood chips, its horizontal trunk taking up quite quite a lot of space amidst the great, big, huge and very dismal sandy expanse where native bushland had once been.

He took off his sunglasses and stared moodily down the slope into his own backyard. He’d contributed to this, only in a small way he knew, but he couldn’t get out of it that easily because every other house below him had contributed to it as well and with all those contributions came loss, and what that loss looked like clearly resembled the shit he now stood in the middle of, wondering why the fuck he hadn’t bought himself an old rundown house in the middle of nowhere instead.

Hans sighed, then wandered over to the fallen tree. He felt like covering up its exposed roots with a blanket to give the tree some kind of dignity but that thought, he knew, was slightly ridiculous. Besides that, someone else would probably wander up from below the hill, look at him like he was a complete lunatic and possibly, knowing what people were like in this day and age, call the police for no reason other than the fact he’d likely made them feel uncomfortable.

He took a picture of the names burnt into the trunk and decided to take it down to one of the local joints the following day, the kind of place where they allowed you to blow photographs up and put them on shiny paper and then, when he got the chance, he’d frame it and go and stick it on Jake’s grave just for shizz and gigs and no other reason whatsoever.

‘Howja like them apples,’ He said to no one at all. Then he nudged the bottom of the tree with his boot and wandered back to the car.

Nobody else came up the hill, and he was not actually surprised by that at all. A bottle of bourbon, a heartache, and a plate full of fish and chips later, and he probably wouldn’t even remember it himself.

On the way to his dinner for one, Hans decided to call Solway.

For reasons he’d never been able to understand Hans couldn’t keep his sunglasses on when talking with people on the phone so, as he coasted down the hill from the cul de sac, he kept his sunglasses off, removed his cap, straightened his wavy, not curly, hair in the rearview mirror and cried “Solway” at the top of his voice.

Two seconds later, not that he was counting, she answered with a “Hans!”.

‘What are you doing,’ he asked.

‘Wondering why you’re calling me,’ she replied. There was a moment of awkward silence.

‘Is Bart there?’

‘Yes, he is. Did you want to speak with him?’ Another long expectant pause.

‘No.’ He stared out through the windscreen.

‘You called me, Hans.’

‘I know I did. What are you doing for dinner.?’

‘Oh.’ She signed softly. ‘We’re having dinner at home. You know, with the current economy and all that…’

‘Blah blah blah blah,’ he said rudely.

‘What’s up your arse?’

‘Nothing. The usual. Can’t I just talk to my sister on the phone?’

‘It would help if you actually talked.’

‘I am talking.’

‘Okay, well that’s fantastic. Are you going out for dinner are you?’

‘Yep.’

‘This is like drawing blood from a stone. What’s going on? You sound dumb.’

‘Well, you sound stupid,’ he replied in his most menacing voice.

‘Are we, like, five?’ Her tone was getting that exasperated edge he remembered so well from when he’d been a kid and done something evil and she’d had to clean up after him. ‘You’re upset about something. What is it?’

‘I’m bored.’ He began tapping the steering wheel.

‘No, you’re not. It’s something else.’ After a moment of silence he heard something metallic hit something else like she was stirring something. ‘If it’s about the fleas…’

‘I thought we weren’t going to talk about the fleas.’

‘Yet here I am, talking about fleas.’

‘I don’t want to talk about fleas.’ He glared at the road.

‘I am trying to be kind, Hans. Don’t make it hard.’

‘I don’t want to hang up on you Solway.’

‘I know you don’t buddy. What is it?’

‘Nothing. You wouldn’t get it. I don’t get it. It’s okay. I’m okay.’

‘Now I’m worried. Where are you having dinner then?’

‘That fish and chip place on the foreshore.’

A rustling sound and a soft murmur came through the line. ‘Okay, I’ll come down. I won’t be eating, but I’ll come down, okay?’

‘Okay, Don’t look too attractive.’

‘Don’t look too… Do you want me to come down or not?’

‘Yes.’ He scowled and flicked on the indicator.

‘Okay. I’ll see you soon.’

‘Good.’ He hung up.

He felt like tossing the phone into the back seat, then felt like tossing it out the window. He put it on the leather passenger seat instead. It was going to be a shit night, and a shit meal, and everything was going to be shit. He pulled up at a stoplight and checked his teeth. Perfect, as usual.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t going to be completely shit. Maybe it would be okay. He wondered if they had tartare sauce.

to be continued.

Intermission — Straight Talk

What’s the why of it? This is the question.

Think of being the smallest child in the family. You have two big brothers, maybe, maybe not. They keep knocking you down, and they say ‘Stay down’.

You get back up.

You start to smile, and yes, sometimes it’s only on one side of your face, but it’s not a half-hearted grin, it’s a smirk.

Sometimes it’s a full-blown grin, and there are a lot of teeth displayed. Do you understand my meaning?

It’s not a display. It’s a willingness to fight. It’s your boxer in the ring, blowing his opponent a kiss. It’s a flick on the nose. Despite your willingness to make me seem small and insignificant, it’s my opportunity to say, ‘Okay. Fuck you too, Have another swing and see where it gets you.’

It’s not cowardice. You will get your diplomatic ones that do not have this little fire inside, They will keep trying to put your fire out. It’s not a physical fire, it’s a mental one, you see?

So, if you give me something to go up against, I’ll go up against it. I’ll circle it, or cross it. I’ll mark it in the sand, and I will say to you, ‘Go ahead, cross this line.’

You should not cross this line. Do not cross this line.

This is why I am telling you this. I’m the diplomatic one here. I’m telling you how it is. It’s a simple process of marking my line in the sand, and you just keep crossing that line.

Why am I not crossing that line? This is my strength that I offer to you. I do not cross the line, but I’ll keep getting up, over and over again. This is what I try to teach my boys.

Be polite.

Be kind, not naive.

Being nervous is okay.

Stand up, step up to the line and smile at your opponent. Use that adrenaline and turn it into a shit-eating grin. That is always the line I wanted to use when I wrote about Jake. Jake was a young man in a fictional story. He was not real, but his legacy is.

‘I feel threatened,’ your opponent thinks. ‘This guy is smiling at me and he has shit in his teeth. This guy (or girl) is saying hello, beautiful, and I think that’s frightening me. Or maybe I think it’s funny because they don’t take me seriously. Or maybe, they know something I don’t, which is often the case in this thought process, or maybe they simply do not give a shit what I do, because they’ll just keep getting back up. I can’t win here.’

Your opponent now has the choice to walk away, give in, or hold out a hand and say he (or she) is sorry. If they don’t then that remains their problem, not yours, because you never started this fight, but you can always finish it.

Here is another very short example. You say bee-sting. I say I have a splinter in my heel that has been there 12 months or more, and it does not concern me. It’s painful. It reminds me I’m alive. Train yourself to remember you’re alive.  

C.S. Capewell

P.S Stop using sticks and start using clicks. Not bait. Just a sound. Just a sound to get your horse to move forward. It’s the exact sound your opponent doesn’t want to hear. Walk on. CSC

“It’s an Oldy but a Goody”

Three people walked into a pub. Or maybe it was a bar. Perhaps it was a saloon, or a salon. Maybe they were just getting their nails done before they went to …

‘Three people?’

Yes, we’re being politically correct. They were going to a fancy dress party.

“A fancy dress party? Is that where everyone wears black ties and pretty gowns and stuff?”

No, it’s where one dresses oneself to resemble something or someone else.

‘Oh, okay, so it’s fake.’

No, it’s not fake. It’s a party.

“Right. So, are we talking political parties, then? Are they going to a political party?”

No, they are going to a fancy dress party, and they’re dressed to resemble emotions.

“Is that like emoticons?”

‘No, it’s like something one feels, right? Are you feeling me up?’

No, I’m talking about feelings.

‘Is that like feelers? So, bugs, right?’

“Does this have a point? I’m kinda getting sick of this joke.”

‘He’s not well. We should take him to the doctor’s.’

Did you want to hear this joke or not?

“I can’t hear the joke. I don’t have any ears. Maybe you should write it down.”

The first person writes the joke down.

“I can’t see that,” says the second person. “Maybe you should whisper it to me.”

‘Oh, that’s funny,’ says the last person. ‘Pity you can’t say that in public.’

Where do we go from here, asked no one. We can’t go to their house. They resemble donkey sit-upons. We can’t go to their house either/either. They’re personally affronted. We can’t go down there either. Everyone is upside down and everyone else knows they don’t exist anyway.

‘What’s personally affronted mean?’

‘It’s wot.’

“Whut?”

No, what.

‘Who?’

What was that joke about again? It’s on you. It’s on you.

“I don’t know what that means? Can you explain it to me?”

Apparently, I can’t. So, that’s the end of the story.

Last Year…

I noticed something very disturbing on someone else’s Instagram. It was a comment I wasn’t meant to see, but I did, and it was regarding me. This is where you guys get to see how messed up some people are.

My husband and grown up young men, all over twenty three, had liked something of mine. It was not a bad thing at all, it was a hook for a story I was going to tell, but what I saw in response to all that, was someone saying, ‘What’s she done there. Who are they? Her boyfriends or something?’

it wasn’t quite those words, but it was pretty damn close.

Now why would someone do that, or say that? Because they do not understand what families are. They do not understand people at all. They have had absolutely no experience in being in a family group. They are physically and mentally unable to distinguish between family members and “Boyfriends”.

I might have reacted to that, because that sort of behaviour is something that needs to be reined in. Drastically. I would say every reaction I had to these people after that was completely justified, because they were not nice people at all.

When some evil little cow who is so caught up in being in the limelight, and being on camera, and being all these wonderful things, turns around and says something like that, you have to see there is some kind of breakdown in communications. There is something wrong with them. They have no idea about the outside world, they have no idea about what real people are like, and they are so disconnected from reality, everything is a “game” to them.

I could see the problem there. These people had no social skills. They didn’t understand how to communicate properly. They had no idea about “real life” people. And, they had ruined someone else’s perfectly good reputation simply for being pathetic, jealous, nasty little people.

If this sounds familiar to anyone else I know, or anyone I have spoken with in the last twelve months, you need to let me know here, because this is the kind of stuff we are trying to eradicate if we can’t reform it. This is why I asked, requested, but never pleaded, for some kind of game, scavenger hunt etc, as it had been done in the past, to show these people what it was like if they actually got themselves outside and had some fun.

Being locked inside has done a lot of terrible things to young people’s minds, and being constantly on the internet with misleading information has created so many societal problems, including a huge rise in mental health issues, that something needs doing. Ask any pharmacy what they sell the most of in the last fifteen to twenty years and they will tell you the rise in people taking antidepressants is so steep, that sometimes they’ll run out of a certain product and have to recommend another.

So, maybe sometimes, those people who live in cities should get out of them and see the real world, and maybe sometimes there should be a ban on social media on people’s devices for a day, and maybe sometimes, people just need to disconnect from the internet altogether, just to give their mental health a break — because if they don’t, they will be more inclined to be getting angrier with misinformation, sadder with the handling of that misinformation, and more likely to rely on electronic products than using their own common sense.

It’s a logical conclusion, don’t you think?

Being Someone You’re Not

Let me explain something very carefully.

Imagination is a wonderful thing, and people should use it sometimes. I can throw myself into anyone’s position through imagination, and it’s not very often I get it wrong. Occasionally, yeah. Most of the time, I don’t though, because I see what that frustration is — what it really is.

Now, I can see the cocky bastard who hasn’t got a care in the world, because he/she comes from money, right? Let me show the other side of that cocky bastard. “I haven’t got a clue. Will you teach me? I’ve never done this before. Could you show me how? I never listened. I’m listening now.”

Unfortunately, although this is all great, the cocky bastard doesn’t understand that this takes time, and effort, and tends to put other people in a position where they start, not only losing money, but not making any. It also means the cocky bastard might start doing shit illegally because he’s above all the rest of us plebeians, and he can make money just like that *snaps fingers*. Language barrier not withstanding, he just keeps doing whatever the fuck he likes because “why not”.

That’s one example. Then you may also have someone who might be, for example, particularly good looking. Now, because they are particularly good looking, they’re not taken very seriously. “Stand over there. Look like this. Move over here, and look like that.” This person might think to himself or herself, ‘Ya know what, I can do a lot more than just look good. Ya know what, I can actually think for myself and I’m actually kind of clever. Funny that.’

Nobody sees this, they might think. They’d be wrong. A lot of people see it. Not everyone, it’s true, but a lot of people. They might say, for example, “Keep going mate, you’re doing a fantastic job. Ignore ’em, buddy, they’ve got no idea what they’re talking about. See those ones there? They might be a couple of nutters, and they have no fucking idea what they’re talking about either. See how they made assumptions about me just then? Not too flash, is it. I’ve got your back. I understand. When we get these little self-centred shit-for-brains people out in the open, maybe we’ll teach ’em a lesson or two, eh?’

Now, there might be a few other people involved in this scenario. They can see it too. It’s happened to them enough times. They might decide to be a little more switched on than other people, and they might say, ‘Take a break, mate. I’ll take over. No one will know. Do something for yourself for a change.’

Unfortunately, the fact that some are female and some are male, and some decide that it isn’t anyone’s business what they are, make it a little difficult for people to be just mates. Why? Because there are other people involved, and they might just have partners that would not understand. Then, you’ve also got the ones that think, ‘hey, you know what, I could hold all these people to ransom by finding stuff out about them.’ But, you’ve also got the ones who say, ‘I might think exactly the same way as you, and there is absolutely no feckin’ chance anyone’s gonna find out anything they could use against ya. If they do, they might have a whole lot of other very angry people to deal with.’

So, here we are. Some of us are making nothing to keep our independence — so it’s kind of not independence anymore, ya know? Some are so entwined in their own misery they keep hanging on to someone else like a barnacle attached to a jetty. It’s been a long time now. The jetty here is starting to get rotten. It’s time to switch things up.

Me personally, I don’t have all the tech savvy shit I need and I don’t have the patience to read through piles and piles of rubbish to learn nothing. I can’t do it for ya. I’m probably none of the things some people think I am, and a lot of the things some people think I’m not, so please don’t make assumptions about me. I know who I am, and I know exactly what I’m incapable of. I’m kind of honest with myself about shit like that.

Everything I’ve asked for help with I have not received. Not once. Everything I have done, I’ve done mostly for other people. Many people feel the same way, I know, but the burden of carrying all that on one’s shoulders, and getting it repeated back time, and time again, is beginning to wear thin. The one thing I will not do, is get rid of my own stuff to make way for others. I’m not a packrat. I’m not illogical. I’m not bragging either. So, to those who think that’s who I am — you’ve got the wrong person.

“Independence”

For me, is a very difficult thing to let go of. I don’t actually feel like saying goodbye to it.

I’ve been independent of people for most of my life, in a monetary sense, so when I find myself in a position where I need to be dependent on other people making money, it annoys me. It not only annoys me, it makes me very angry sometimes as well.

Especially when they don’t have much of a sense of humour.

This applies to more than one person, so try not to make assumptions when reading this. I know my sense of humour has dropped considerably over the last however many months, and it has dropped even more considerably over the last however many years.

I used to be pretty good at making “light” out of a situation, but when it feels like anyone who has an ounce of power is against you, it begins to take its toll.

I’ll tell you something too. They don’t give a shit.

You wanna know who makes things work properly around here? Me. But, nowdays, I also have to listen to a lot more than one person’s woes, and one person’s problems, and one person’s dreams, because everyone else’s dreams have come to me as well. It’s not pleasant.

My instincts may not be finely honed in some senses, but in others I am very aware. Every little thing that goes wrong anywhere nearby, and sometimes not even close at all, I am aware. And, just to prove it, along it comes on the TV later that day. In itself, that wouldn’t be so much of an issue, but knowing someone out there is doing that to prove a point to me, just makes me angrier.

What if, for example, I just wanted to go for a walk, or do something for myself, or see something for myself instead of having it sent to me over the airwaves because someone else is bored?

What if, as another example, I wanted to earn money for something I’m not too bad at, but can’t, because everyone else like me is in exactly the same position I am and can’t afford to buy it?

What if, as another example, people are using my experiences as learning tools, and I am not getting paid anything to teach those experiences. I used to get paid for that sort of thing… Now, it’s expected to be sent along to those who are still working, still earning a wage, still getting all the things they need and want, and I get sweet fuck all.

Hmm.

Doesn’t make much sense does it?

I’d kind of like my independence back.

Experiences, Expectations, and Truths.

Not everywhere is the same. Not everyone is the same. One person’s self-improvement is not necessarily someone else’s.

To walk into a land not your own and see it as an adult with a fixed mind, rather than walking through it is a child, a teenager and someone from a completely different area who wishes to learn the local ways, are two very different things. To grow up with an understanding of the land itself, by walking with her, smelling her, growing with her, learning from her, and living with her, is very different from someone coming into it with blinkers on and not understanding, from their own guilt of being “privileged”, what it’s all about.

When we say, ‘Speak for me, for I cannot speak for myself,’ it comes from a place where people have adapted and changed, yet have a few people around them with much louder voices who say, ‘I have changed, yes, but I also take advantage of a system who sees me as someone who needs help, when I actually don’t.’ When a person says, speak for me, please, they are asking from their heart for someone else to say, “This is how my friend feels.” They don’t want bullshit, they don’t want someone yacking on about crap, they just want someone in their corner.

There are many people here in WA who are proud of what they have achieved through their own hard work, despite all the bullshit they get thrown at them. There have been many issues in the past, yes, but that is through individual grievances, not group ones.

The story and the dreaming is still very much alive. It’s a pity many people who do not live out in the country do not understand her history, and have lost their way. It’s disturbing. There aren’t enough people to explain exactly how disturbing it is, and how much is being lost through not being connected. Trying to understand something which is completely foreign to oneself, is not the same as understanding through experience. Making up modern yarns about something and passing it off as truth, when there are already traditional, well-documented stories, is not something that’s meant to be done. This is where we start to lose real history.

Understanding the difference between fiction and reality can be very difficult for some people. It can be even more difficult for people with an agenda to fix things that don’t need fixing, and to not fix things which are in dire need of fixing.

If one went back to the reality of “tribal” lore, for those who don’t know what that means, over here in W.A it was pretty bloody nasty. Those who did the wrong thing were basically “evicted” from their camp, and if they kept coming back, they were chased off. Those who did things a lot worse than just “the wrong thing”, suffered a fate far worse than simply being killed. To these people, the nutters, the killers, and the ones who interfered with children, looking to be convicted of a felony by “white-man’s law” seemed a lot more pleasant than getting speared.

“White man’s privilege” is exactly what the bad ones wanted. Understanding this is possibly the most important thing you will learn today. A few have lost their way due to interference from well-meaning people who do not understand how things work within a community. What I, and those who walk with me, are trying to do — is teach you a little bit about facts right here, and right now. We don’t do this through trying to be mean, or trying to have “out-loud” conversations, we do this carefully. Sometimes it’s hard to get voices heard, and sometimes it’s difficult to make people understand, so when we tell you stories, it’s the meaning behind the story that’s important, not the story itself.

Here the words are different. Here, still water with hidden logs and vast amounts of mud and muck and things one can get stuck in are places to avoid rather than dive into, and it is better to wait until the rains come before we start talking about that — this is what the real dreamtime stories were all about.

Teach your kids to be safe.

Let me tell ya a little bit about…

strength in numbers, and being taken advantage of.

Ya see, people have tried to take advantage of me a number of times. I have also been threatened by idiots at my former place of work a number of times. Because I worked alone a hell of a lot, I had to learn to stick up for myself. Actually, that’s a lie. I already knew how to look out for myself, and I knew all the stupid, horrible things people would do because they, for some reason, even though they had no idea what the f*** they were doing, thought they could do whatever the f*ck they liked.

They still think they can do whatever the f*ck they like.

This is where I start to get, not mad, not irate, but incredibly f*cking angry. I believe it’s called rage.

I think the angriest I got, was when people did not understand, nor refused to try to understand, that I am also a writer. So, what they’re endeavouring to do now, knowing I’m a writer (and a published author of other books unrelated to the other types of writing I’ve done over the years), is steal my stuff and use it for themselves.

I have a number of extremely succinct words for these types of people. Aside from the fact they think they can do whatever the f*ck they like, they are not particularly bright, in my humble opinion.

Incredibly, people also like to believe other things that are distinctly untrue, circulating around the internet. Things that have come out of other people’s books, and other people’s true stories that certain people have used for themselves. It’s kind of sucky.

My stories, certainly the ones about my family, my husband etc, are actually true. The others may have a lot of truth in them if you look very carefully, but, and here we get to the sticky bit, certain people are a tad naive, easily led, and feed off other people’s misery just for the hell of it.

I had another WordPress site quite some time ago. In it were stories about all sorts of things related to myself, and other people. Stories about wolves, and sheep, about smiles and how much one really needs to pull up a smile sometimes because someone else wants ya to. Stories about eight hours, and the fact that when one is a parent and a wife, one needs to extend one’s own eight hours and add everyone else’s eight hours in there as well.

Now, I know certain people may not believe this, and that’s okay too, but sometimes, just sometimes there are actually nice people out there who may very well have experienced something very similar to myself. Those people may not be in quite the right position to say something, due to “conflicts of interest” in regards to the type of work they do, and the fact they need to make a living. But, it does not give people the right to freely access my writing, or the kind of writing I do.

What they can do, is read this. I do not give people permission to access my work, and never have. I have said, however, if they wished to use certain ideas within my work to help them write their own things, then that’s fine, but that does not include accessing my work illegally. Unfortunately, when someone, not myself, accesses certain things of mine “freely” and “Illegally”, bad things start to happen… And not always to me and mine.

I don’t go to gyms. I can’t afford it. I’ve never gone to a gym. I don’t talk to people who are not my friends very often, unless I get the impression there is something very wrong. When I was working in the fuel industry, for example, the longest conversation I would have with a customer was not particularly long at all. Oh, I had a lot of disagreements with customers, because after all what the hell would I know, I only worked in a servo. Obviously I had never done anything else with my life, aside from, you know, get married and have kids (which is certainly nothing to be ashamed of). My long working life, training, and life experience in general could not in the least have anything to do with the fact I knew what the hell I was talking about.

When I see people have stolen certain photographs from other people’s facebook pages to perhaps boost their own confidence, and when I see certain people think there must be something wrong with someone who is quite comfortable in their own skin, I truly start to wonder if those few, unreliable sources might have something a little skewiff within themselves.

Still, there isn’t much I can do about that, except perhaps try to teach those people about what life is really like. It’s not all romance and flowers. It’s not all hearts and bunnies, and if you knew a little something about where I got the term “hearts and bunnies”, you might think a little deeper about that too. It’s not who I am personally, mind you, but it is certainly a historical fact, not fiction.

Perhaps, some other people might want to learn more about those certain, very important things and stop giving the rest of us a hard f*cking time.

You’re welcome.

So when we say you…

kill her, you save her arse every time.

This was today’s dream.

The small white bus was cross-axled in the road. On either side of the road was thick scrub and low trees. One side was quite steep, the other side, to our left, had a ditch. My copilot, a tall blonde fella, was doing his damndest to help me stop the bloody thing from falling backwards into that ditch. I didn’t tell him that side had a ditch, I knew it was there, and I was not going to let that bus fall into it. No fucking way.

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You can do this mate. We don’t give in, and we don’t give up.’

‘I can’t hold it,’ he said, and I could see him straining to keep it on the track.

I got out and put my shoulder into that metal door and I pushed. ‘Come on. We’ve got this.’

He had the other side. If I didn’t change the position of the back of that stupid fucking bus, it, and all its belongings, were gonna end up in that fucking ditch. So, I pushed her over a few inches so that if she went backwards again, she’d back up into a tree instead. The leaves of the peppermint were hanging over the back of that bus, and I knew it was not going to be easy.

The nose of the bus began to tip down. I could hear her then, the little one. I could hear the agony in her voice.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,’ she gasped and cried and it was the most awful sound I’d ever heard. But, the whole point was to get this thing up that fucking hill, because there was nowhere else for us to go. The road was washed out further ahead, we couldn’t turn her round, we could only get her to go up.

‘Put your back into it,’ I grunted. ‘It’s not gonna be easy but we’ll save the stupid woman one more bloody time because she needs to get this right.’

If she ever reads this, I hope she finally gets it right. It’s not about what shit looks like, or how it appears to be, it’s about how we are trying to get you to access something you do not think you have, and lady if you do not think you have emotions, that is why you feel so fucking awful in yourself right now.

‘Do we send this to her too,’ asked the little one who had survived the crash of that bus. He was a big lad now, and not a little girl, but it didn’t matter in the long run. In the long run, the whole point was to get that woman to safety, regardless of what she’d fucking done.

‘Nah, I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘She’ll figure it out.’

To The Dawn.

‘Play with me?’

The small cat canters down the darkened hallway. It’s early, and most of the occupants of the house are sleeping. This is our time, but we need to be very quiet.

I’m not wearing my glasses, once again, for once again I can’t find them.

This is normal.

The small cat has eyes for this sort of thing. I do not. Once, many years ago, I may have, but that time has passed. It was possibly around the time I noticed I needed to have longer arms to see things.

A little voice inside me says, ‘You should go and get new glasses.’ The practical part of me, who notices I have not been earning a wage, tells me to buy yet another pair of cheap reading glasses.

Yet another part of me says, ‘Well, you should be earning a wage, so you can buy yourself new glasses.’

These parts of myself try not to be negative, yet because they are practical they list all the reasons why these things are not achievable. So, I decide that when there is more light in the sky, I will try to find the glasses I know I own, and use those.

But, I want to do something now, so I studiously try to ignore these things and try not to fuss too much about not wearing my glasses, and instead rely on the fact I have a fairly good idea where the keys on the keyboard are. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time I have had to write blind.

‘May we sing to you, for you.’ the small voices ask, and it makes me sad for no reason at all. One of the young men of the house has gotten out of bed and is having a shower. He works early this morning, has taken on extra responsibilities for himself, and is learning how to shine.

It is beautiful to see.

Dawn is here.

You see, someone achieving something is possibly one of the most wonderful things in the world to me. To see them rise and say, ‘This is what I am going to do,’ is possibly one of the sweetest things to feel.

Is this my purpose? I feel it is.

Perhaps, someday someone will also do that for me.

Today, though, like most days, I will see them rise, and I will do my best to help them shine, and listen when I can, and switch off when I can’t. This is how I deal with things. I will do the things they are unable/unwilling to do, and make sure everything runs smoothly.

I put myself in their shoes and I think, ‘Oh, I should be there, sitting with them, and just being there for them. They yawn loudly, and I think, ‘Please do that quietly, other people are sleeping’, and then I think, ‘If I was sitting with them, perhaps they would not yawn as loudly.’ I hear the morning birds and I think, ‘I should be there, appreciating their songs,’ and then I compare that to sitting and appreciating being with the person who supports me because I chose to walk away from something that was not kind.

I have been told that was a poor decision, to walk away from something that was not kind, because now I do not earn that wage. Yet here, where I am doing my best to be kind, it is accepted and ignored as well.

Do I get to share my passion for words with them? No, not often. This is boring to them

Do they get to share their passion for the sport of their choosing with me? Often, and loudly. Do I wish to participate in that sport? No. They like to get louder and louder to share their passion with me. I get quieter and quieter because my words and their words do not compare.

So, instead, we use the practical knowledge of how to make things work, with each other, and although my practical knowledge of certain things far exceeds theirs in some ways, their practical knowledge of other things far exceeds mine in others. This is how the partnership is formed. I will continue to be proud of them, and the things I love to do will continue to be mine and mine alone — for if I disagree with something then I am called, very loudly by people with loud voices, these people I love, horrible names. If I say, ‘If you do this to help yourself, you can be more independent.’ They say, ‘If you do this for me, I don’t need to.’

So, this is where it’s at. I cannot go and earn a wage for myself, because it infringes on the time for them. Yet, if I do not work and earn a wage, it is a bad decision and I should have stayed.

Where do I come into this?

I should get myself a dog.

I can’t get myself a dog, because this is not the right environment for a dog. The dog would be mistreated, the dog might escape, the dog would not be trained properly for there are many people in my home, and a dog needs to be trained one way, not many ways, so the dog can learn one thing first before he can learn many.

I go back to my words. I have learnt from the past that to get something to play with, in whatever shape or form, will only serve to have it and myself mistreated, and have myself blamed — so I go back to my words.

My own words are the only words that are safe for me.

Why?

No one on this page at this time has interfered with my own words. Only I have interfered with my own words. I allow changes if they are correct. If I no longer have access to make the correct changes, then I no longer have access to the one thing I can control.

Then lose control.

That is a very unwise decision. It is illogical, impractical, and ridiculous.

Then get another hobby.

This is where they and I agree. Why, when I only have one thing I absolutely, thoroughly enjoy, the one thing I have left to enjoy because everything else is taken away, or impractical, unwise, not appreciated, not accepted, and no one has given me/will give me the opportunity or access to be myself for myself and no one else, why would I get another hobby?

Then there is only one thing left to do. Here we disagree. I will not end, nor will I give in or give up, because that is simply not who I am. I will get up, again, and again, and again. I will not be violent if I can help it. I will not try to hurt if I can help it. I will not be loud or obnoxious if I can help it. I will just get smaller, and smaller until finally there is nothing left at all.

And then I will start again.