Gratitude

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Twelve days after returning home from, definitely, the Trip That Shook Me Out Of My Self Imposed Misery, I am finally turning Station House back into our home.

The people who rented the house so we could afford to go away, treated it with utter contempt and left it in dirty disarray. Eight hours to clean my kitchen. Tenacity by our wonderful cleaner to remove most of the scum that covered the floors (I also had to scrape away baked on grease). An entire week to clean our house. Washing every single item of linen and throwing pillows out.

They rendered our dishwasher non functional (after I had verbally told them and write down not to use it), left a nasty stain on one of our mattresses (eurgh) , mould and moss (!) on my window frames and a strong damp odour throughout our house. .

Michael has assured me he will tackle the air-conditioning filters and the ceiling fans in due course, all of which are caked with dust. Needless to say, we had left them clean...

My volunteers who visited the house whilst we were away told me the blinds were always closed so they could play video games. These were people who told me they could look after our home and garden which I had left pristine for them. Instead, they treated our house as a rubbish dump.

Neither the parents of one of the people or the people themselves have responded to my messages or phone calls asking for an apology and the amount of a week's rent for compensation. Those actions have cemented my belief that they are ill mannered and ultimately selfish, never to be trusted by anyone ever again. Karma will eventually sort them out.

Yesterday was beautiful and sunny with the stirrings of spring. Today is a bit overcast and windy, but still with the promise of warmer days. Michael has been absolutely peerless, tackling all the washing up whilst I was sleeping in. He has completed the last of his designated tasks - tidying his desk and tossing out all items he no longer needs. Michael really dislikes change, but even he admitted that after this job was completed, he now knows what is in his desk drawers again.

I intend to tackle the washing, sweep my courtyards and tend my beloved plants over the next couple of days. The sunny warmth is calling me outside as this week will become lovely. My deciduous plants are beginning to bud and my geraniums and succulents are already blooming.

I have almost weaned myself off the damaging antidepressant. My balance has improved substantially, the panic is gone and I use self talk for my anxiety episodes. I still have the odd wobbly day but I am determined to pick myself up, lift my head and just get on with rediscovered confidence to minimise these episodes.

My beloved Michael and I are holding hands again, enjoying cuddles and kissing with no angst and re-learning to banter once more. Do we still bicker? Absolutely. But we continue to explore the renewed positivity of our relationship, in order to return to an even keel.

Michael's rounds of the kitchen during the trip paid timely dividends, so our marriage would continue. I had to pull my socks up and choose to join his world again. Once I had actually decided that path, my demeanour was surprisingly easy to change. 

And he has taught me gratitude again. Gratitude for our home, our garden, our now-settled dogs and the autocratic cat. Simple pleasures like taking the dogs to our local oval for a well deserved romp with their canine buddies. Watching our favourite television shows. Listening to music. Enjoying Wordle and Mahjong for myself, rather than as a competition. 

He also comes up with practical suggestions to ease my anxiety. When I was bemoaning the wet weather, he reminded me to use the clothes airer in front of the air-conditioning. Saving me from cooking by producing one of his world famous pizzas. Helping me with food prep for dinner. Driving whilst I find my confidence again.

I occasionally become envious of others' disposable income, particularly when we have been on the bones of our bums for so long. With the never ending subdivision. With a beautiful Gallery that makes no money. With the seemingly never ending gnawing worry about bills. 

But then I remember what we actually have, our home, our battered building that contains our Gallery and Michael's Workshop and Studio, our fabulous volunteer Sue (and Jan helping out) our vehicle, our ever-trusting, ever-loving dogs, Lexi and Stella, cheap cask wine to unwind in the evenings, watching the seasons, spending time with our family and friends, listening to the birds and the peace and our own personal escape, far from the madding crowd.

Plus, my breath is always taken away by the extraordinary talent of Michael. He is utterly true to his art, even as we struggle to have his sculptures recognised after forty-five years of creating these individual works. He will never succumb to commercial and repetitive pieces as that would kill his artistic soul. And I could never suggest otherwise.

Michael is the light and love of my life. We belong together. I vow to never jeopardise our relationship again. And I remain so grateful for his being and his presence.

 

 

Michael at Marble Bar...

 

 

 

Me fossicking near Meekatharra on the old railway line...

 

 

 

Us at the kids' house...

 

 

 

 

Number One son, Callum and our lovely daughter-in-law Bronwyn...

 

 

 

Number Two son and Autistic Superstar, Alex...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Great Expectations/No Expectations

I set off on this trip with Michael with such great expectations. This break would be my silver bullet, my panacea, lightness of spirit and hope bursting out of my very soul.

What a load of bollocks. I spent most of the trip in abject misery, afflicted with panic and anxiety. whilst the love of my life, Michael wondered what the hell to do with me.

And I was having falls. Lots of falls. Mostly onto rocks, spectacularly onto glass , tripped up by the dogs' leads, the steps to the caravan, inside the caravan 

And I was terrified of losing items, of forgetting words, of being afraid all the time. I was dropping items, spilling food and drink on me, on Michael and inside the caravan. I spent most of this time enveloped in self-pity. Fucking hell, I was such a pain in the arse.

Then, I had met a retired doctor called Tim urged myself to spoil myself, to be kind to myself and not have too many expectations, Michael had been trying to support this idea of no expectations, but mostly I rejected him, caught in this inexplicable cycle.

Then, two moments collided to make me rethink this horrible state. Tim revealed there were many "self haters" in the world (which was a revelation) and if I couldn't love myself, perhaps I could make an effort to like myself...hmmm. Still I couldn't surface out of the fog...until Michael and I had a blazing row which was entirely my fault. Jealousy at him having fun with Tim and Lizzy, not being totally in my orbit all the time  and making me wait before we walked the dogs on a sweltering Marble Bar evening.

He had just had enough, Tired of me crying all the time, tired of  me not being responsible for my actions, tired of being cooped up with me in an 11 foot caravan and having nowhere to go, He was ready to go if I couldn't get my act together.

Suddenly I was dumbstruck. My ever patient, ever tolerant, ever caring and adored husband was being serious. I thought of his anguish and hurt with his previous wives and stupidly, I was going down the same path as them. On that fateful evening, I knew he had called my number and the onus was on me to change my appalling attitude.  

I knew I had to change. But I also wondered if there was another trigger that had contributed to this emotional anarchy.

Knowing me, I consulted Doctor Google. I had a hunch that the very expensive anti-depressant that I had begun taking over twelve months ago could have been, at least partially, the culprit. I was gobsmacked by my research. This drug caused panic and anxiety and dizziness leaving one susceptible to  falling. I also wondered I was atypical, due to the fact I had been told to cease taking my very reliable SSRI, because I might get fat! By a cardiologist who was only interested in prescribing as many drugs as possible. Fortunately another cardiologist had conducted a "tabletectomy" on most of the medication that she had prescribed.

But still I remained on this bloody anti-depressant  and even was prescribed more (mostly due to my short sighted insistence) plus a mood stabiliser.

Had these drugs been helpful at all? I began to doubt this entire drug regime. So, I made a decision. I was going to wean me off this destructive stuff and before I introduce any more drugs, just looking for who I used to be,

Michael is concerned I will turn into a loony as a result of a drug-less state but I have to try...before I introduce any other drugs.

I have only had one more wobbly day and I am determined not to be overwhelmed again. So I gritted my teeth, thought of my wonderful husband and had an afternoon nap, Upon waking, I regained my equilibrium. 

I have also started reducing my meds. I plan to see a new GP  and talk through what I hope to achieve in the future, both immediate and long lasting

Plus, I will reunite with my beloved Barry,  my thigh throbbing exercise bicycle and return to the "dog park" at the Beverley oval, seeing my doggy friends and their parents, all on the day after coming come. And of course, Chop our cat. I just pray he doesn't give us the hairy eyeball for too long..

The last six months have been a hell of a ride. Not any more.  I have far too much to lose.and I an not going to go down that path again.

Dedicated to you and love to you, Michael. And I will work at having no expectations.

That is all.

 

 Bugger me, I have had a light-bulb moment (or two)!

 

Revelations, Reflections and Realisations

We have been away from home for nearly seven weeks. We have both acknowledged that this trip has not been restful and relaxing. And that is the first revelation for me.

I worked for weeks like a navvy preparing for this trip. I packed and repacked, sourced more than enough alkaline water for Michael, organised scripts and more non-perishable food than would be needed for an Antarctic expedition. I cooked some meals to be frozen, cleaned and dusted the house from top to bottom, ironed every piece of clothing and washed and changed the bed on the day our house renters were to arrive. The house was neat as a pin, the caravan and car were both groaning and we didn't actually leave until after three o'clock on a winter's afternoon.

And that's when all my preparation led to exhaustion, disillusionment and hollowness. After discovering that the caravan park north of Perth didn't accept dogs (as we were on our way), we changed tack and ended up in the Midland Caravan Park.The place was serviceable but no more.

The other two days we spent there were no more relaxing. We collected Michael's dark multifocal glasses, an extra CPAP mask and accessories that were an eye watering price and spent the next day trying to make sense of all the stuff we'd packed.

That was when Michael and I began to bicker. This was not the dream start to the trip I had been imagining. Then we encountered disaster after disaster. The caravan park in Dalwallinu was dirty and dusty. The bathrooms were disgusting. We fled onward to Yalgoo after two awful nights.

Yalgoo had received a lot more rain than usual. We were hampered by muddy tracks that could not be traversed. The rain continued on and off for a week. We were eaten alive by midgies. We began to feel trapped as we could not leave until we received our  Centrelink pensions and rent for the house.

We gratefully left for Northampton. This is a pretty town and we manged to snag a spot under some trees at the edge of the park. We moved onto Carnarvon, and as I had booked a cheaper park, we were soon covered in dust every time any car went past us. At least the weather was better. 

Worryingly, Stella began to bark relentlessly at people, dogs, bicycles and gophers. This was when my imagined bliss about the trip well and truly began to fall apart. Michael was perplexed by my despair. I kidded myself that by applying "Danshari" principle to my brain, I would be alright.

Except I wasn't alright. Moving onto Onslow (where I had such fond memories) left me aghast. We were placed in the hottest and windiest position in the new "upper" caravan park. There was no shade at all and high winds for over a week destroyed what was left of my well being. Even the beach was different where sand had disappeared in the wake of the latest cyclone and left sharp rocks and mountains of shells. Only at low tide could we find some mud flats for the dogs to be able to run and play.

Onslow looked like a building site - "they paved paradise and turned it into a parking lot." A hundred caravans were crammed into the upper level with only one laundry and one camp kitchen that was eight hundred steps from our van. The two washing lines were filled by nine in the morning. The reticulation line behind our van blew apart in the middle of the night and scared the shit out of me and the dogs. The mess left by this explosion of water took a day to clean up. We had booked three weeks and could not move to Point Samson officially until 4 August. The place was filled with cliques of people travelling together and very few people talked to us.

So we collected shells and walked the dogs, mostly at low tide. Stella was becoming quite aggressive to other dogs because she was leashed most of the time. By this stage, I could not speak without crying. Michael took photos of me walking hunched over on the beach, consumed by this over whelming sadness. I was wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Michael was just as perplexed and I grew terrified that he would leave me because of my emotional state.

We were scammed on the last Saturday night before we left Onslow. Suddenly. I could only use my credit card. And I dented the car on the same evening. I just sat at the pub and wept and wept. 

I was having flashbacks of most of my life. Then came the next revelation. My dreadful mood was all to do with my mother. She was a mercurial, manipulative woman who could be quite vicious towards us all. She used punishment as standard procedure. Her mood, her self obsession and her actions meant I was always a lonely child who was never allowed to have friends to our house. Not that I had many. All of us went through stages where we believed one of us was her current 'golden child'. She never consulted any of us and certainly never considered our feelings. 

Her legacy was one of chaos. She would end communication with me if I had offended her in some way. Which happened frequently. At one stage she didn't speak to me for six years. Michael asked me why I didn't contact her.  I reflected long and hard about his question. I realised that I had always been afraid of her, even after her death. I had thought that I was dealing with the grief and sorrow well that she had caused by this time in my life.

I finally came to the revelation that my fear of her had coloured how I reacted throughout my life.. Suddenly, over the last few days, with the assistance of my GP, raising the dosage of my drugs and organising an appointment with a new and recommended psychiatrist. And I have come to the realisation that not only had I disliked her lack of understanding and attention of me ( and my brothers) I had lost any remaining feelings at all for her. And that understanding has been huge for me.

I know I have a long road ahead of me. I am tired of these episodes of despair. I need a plan to deal with my emotions when a flashback arises and I feel guilty and worthless. 

I am so lucky that Michael has stuck by me. I suspect that without his continuing love and my beautiful dogs,  I may have committed suicide. But my mother has not won. I have started calling her 'the Witch'. Which rhymes nicely with Michael's relationship with his nicotine addiction who we refer to as 'the Bitch'.

We are onward to Marble Bar on Friday. Mostly to collect my new debit card that has been sent to the Marble Bar post office and engage in a bit of fossicking. We are not sure how long we will remain there. I also do not want to be travelling and miss my appointment with my new psychiatrist. 

We are both feeling that home is calling us. This has been such a fraught journey for both of us that we need to rest and recuperate at its closure. We have also made the decision to sell our Aliner, named Will because he has always been willing and able. He is just not for us any more.   

 This trip has been a cathartic experience but one I had to face. I have so  much gratitude to my beloved Michael and our 'girls' for helping me back from the brink.

Thus ended this rather lengthy tome. And enjoy these photographs of Stella and Lexi.

 

 

                                                                                                                                          

 

A 

 

And of course, this amazing, tolerant and compassionate man I am so proud to call my husband.

Love you with all my heart, Michael.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Life In Songs.

 At birth... 

"Seven Seconds"

 The title and refrain of the song refers to the first moments of a child's life; as Cherry put it, "not knowing about the problems and violence in our world".^[

^{As a small child...} 

^{"Save all your kisses for me"}

 The song's final line provided a twist that the aforementioned loved one was his three-year-old daughter.

About my brother Michael...

"He ain't heavy, he's my brother"

Even though not technically correct, he was the first love of my life... 

About being a lonely teenager...

"What about me?"

A small child waiting at the counter, which was me longing to be noticed 

When Michael left and I was all alone

At Seventeen...

"At Seventeen"

No description necessary... 

The beginnings of taking prescription drugs...

"Mamma's Little Helper"

 a 1966 satirical song by the Rolling Stones about the widespred prescription prescription and abuse of 1966 satirical song by The Rolling Stones about the widespread prescription and abuse of tranquilizers like Valium among suburban housewives 

(Sorry about the yellow)

 Getting married very young...

"Chapel of Love"

Married for life with a man I loved... 

Baby/ Child loss..

'Beam me up"/"Tears in Heaven".

Who could I cope with 4 deaths of my babies...

"Lost that Lovin' Feeling'

The end of my first marriage... 

My first breakdown...

"Breakdown Dead Ahead"

Affair with a married man and the subsequent aftermath...

"Won't be Fooled Again"

Meeting Michael...

"Begin Again"

Love at first sight...

Our relationship dealing with his children...

"Miss Sarajevo"

Gelling married again...

"Love Shack"/"What a Wonderful World"...

to the light of my life...

Having so much fun together...

New horizons together

"We've Only Just Begun"

Happiness seemed assured...

Building our our home...

"Our House"/"You've made me so very Happy"

Creating a dream coming true...

"Taking Chances"

Risks about making our Gallery a reality...

Living hand to mouth,,,

"Hand to Mouth"

Being worn down by lack of money every single week...

Four years of hell...

"Hanging On"

That someday we won't

have to worry about money...

And most recently... 

"Demons" 

Confronting my inner chaos and the fear of letting people see me fall apart...

My fear of losing Michael ...

'Will You Still Love Me tomorrow"

Because I am such a pain in the arse.  

"New Beginning" 

Hope that I become the person I long to be again, 

 

  

 

My Personal Dot Points Now I Can Have An ACAT Assessment!

I have reached that fabulous age when I can officially apply for an ACAT assessment to gauge my suitability for assistance at home. I think I will pass with flying colours - I frequently fall over ("She's  had a fall...", I have difficulty keeping my house tidy without help, carrying the washing basket is now beyond me, changing the bed sheets are too heavy, my back hurts most of the time and my balance is stuffed.

Fortunately at present, we are enveloped in the magic of Onslow. We met a thirty year resident on the beach the other day. She are I shared our views on small yapping dogs, small children (she described them as "little shitheads" - her words not mine, but she tolerates the increase of both by escaping to the beach twice a day looking for glass the ocean has thrown up. Even though Beadon Bay is north facing, the beach has been transformed by the recent encounter with Cyclone Narelle.  The loss of much of the sand has thrown up a huge increase in shells, coral, tormented metal, fascinating rock pools, the remains of infrastructure with the ever-present rotation of the tides. 

Today is much cooler and cloudy but I have still retreated to the roomy shelter close to our caravan. Michael is busily washing and sorting our collected treasures, Will is relatively tidy, the washing and the washing up are both soaking and after a rocky start, the day has improved out of sight.

Not that I am suddenly cured of being a lunatic, or that I won't cause Michael more exasperation or irritation, but I feel better today than I have for a very long time.

 What really worried me recently was that my sense of humour had completely deserted me. I have summoned Danshari back as I needed to create another compartment to hopefully store my mental health a tad more successfully until we return home and a shrink can work out what the hell to do with me!

I also decided that I needed to inject some joy and laughter back to aid the return of my sense of humour. In my increasing ag-ed state, I will be bearing all my beliefs and values that I now present as the Gospel according to Kate. If you are easily offended by profanity and questionable opinions, I suggest you look away now.

• I am not a morning person, have never been a morning person, mainly because my two boys were night wakers and I didn't sleep through the night for six years. Believe me, I love my bed and I loathe having to set an alarm. Plus, I detest all those gorgeously effervescent (mostly) young women who leap out of bed with perfect make-up and coiffures and beam at the camera because they are "Instagram influences" set my teeth on edge.
• I am at the point of giving up wearing a bra forever. After fifty years of  searching for the perfect "over the shoulder boulder holder," I have had enough. And if  anybody want to take a gander at my saggy tits, good luck to them. They will be sorely disappointed.
• I have come to the conclusion that I will ever svelte again. Apart from my boobs heading steadfastly towards my knees, I have  wobbly upper arms, and a neck resembling a bull frog. Fortunately, I do not have a muffin top. Instead, I have a pronounced overhang that a family could shelter under if caught in a sudden thunderstorm.
• I have begun wearing panty liners as a matter of course. I don't suffer from "LBL" - light bladder weakness, I can summon a full blown flood that would seriously impress Noah. Sneezing and laughing or just suddenly needing to have a wee right now are the trigger points. And of course, if the panty liner is not placed correctly inside my knickers, they do fuck all anyway. 
• I fart - a lot. Loudly, with expression, or a series of little pop- offs. Long bouts of farting that could see me as a member in a symphony orchestra is farting was introduced as an instrument. And then of course, there is the dreaded fear of follow through - when a fart becomes a shart. Not an experience I recommend. 
• Bowels have become a regular conversation piece or eager comparison. When I was a student nurse, I had to ask each poor patient if they had moved their bowels on that particular day. In an open ward with every other patient listening in. Now, talking of poohs  is a great way to start each day.
• I hate hospitals and I hate inattentive, unprofessional or boorish nursing stuff even more. Since 2014, when Michael nearly died due to actions of an incompetent nincompoop, I never left him alone in a hospital. And I question everything and expect full explanations in plain English so that we know what is going on. 
• The night nurse nurse at Michael's last admission for his hernia operation deserved a decent clip around the earhole of a kick up her arse for loudly broadcasting the results of Michael's blood sugar results to all and sundry. An extremely gormless nurse gave Michael countless sweet biscuits throughout the afternoon because there were nothing else available between lunch and dinner which caused his high blood sugar reading. I also had to explain Michael's meds and I ended up dispensing them which, of course, was STRICTLY FORBIDDEN. Needless to say, my complaints was swept under the carpet of that particular private hospital.  
• I used to be a social person. Now I get irritated by the antics of ill bred, ignorant, arrogant  and annoying people. Take this morning for example. We are staying in a dog friendly caravan park which means there are a lot of dogs around. Some dickhead complained about Stella's barking at him yesterday morning as she was fully aware he was not a dog person. In that case, what the fuck is he doing staying in a dog friendly caravan park and stirring up trouble. In a perfect world, he either would  have spontaneously self combusted or I would have turned the dogs on him.  
• I have become totally bored of the gaggle of caravaners who form tightly knitted groups,  never do stuff all such as exploring the beach or the museum or the Op Shop or the Visitors Centre or the Community Garden. Instead, they sit on their arses under their awnings and exchange phone numbers and talk complete and utter garbage.
•  I have become amused by monstrous caravans and the equally monstrous vehicles that are required to pull them. Usually equipped with every gadget possible and filled with screaming kids and harassed parents, their gear spews out around them and takes them an entire afternoon to organise the van, the awning, the table and chairs and every expensive gizmo to place in its correct position.  We were particularly gobsmacked in Carnarvon when the caravan and rig in the next site literally could not fit in. Plus some of the titles of some of the vans left me in stitches. I shall display some of these ridiculous names in my photos.
• Have I mentioned I dislike most small children? Particularly the ones screaming past our van on bikes without a parent in sight. The ear piercing shrieking of little girls, the aggro of little boys. Really, the only children I have time for are our granddaughters Immy and Violet.This is entirely the result of Callum and Bronwyn's parenting. Immy and Violet are becoming individuals in their own right.  Immy loves art and science, dancing, swimming and outdoorsy activities. Violet has a bit of a minx about her, with explicit opinions and enthusiastic playing in their back yard, Callum and Bronwyn also converted their outdoor al-fresco undercover space into a  "Mud Kitchen" for the girls to explore the natural world in and out of their backyard, In wellington boots and beanies to bare feet and hats, Immy and Violet have greater fun than continually in front of an electronic device.
• And so in conclusion, I has decided I prefer the company of my darling husband, Michael and my beloved family. We do have some special friends and we treasure them. The last two days have involved sitting under the shelter, listening to music, catching up on our computers and having icecream and chocolate sauce for lunch on both days, the dogs being relative well behaved, and the lure twice a day of the beach. There is a sea eagle's nest perched on a tower close to the caravan park, but I don't if many of those staying here would have seen this wonderful sight. There are also the patterns on the beach made by crabs which are industrially rebuild during low tide every single day. These are the reasons we have come to Onslow. We are not sure if we return again, given the huge expansion of what used to be quite an intimate park, but at least whilst we are here, we have the sea, the sky, the afternoon breeze to cherish every single day. And bugger those who appear to be here for no other reason, except to escape the cold weather further south.
• We will return to the bay this afternoon which will provide much enjoyment for the dogs and more beachcoming for us.
• And just wait until I undertake my ACAT assessment. I hope that they will have ever met somebody quite like me.

Until next time! 

These images reflect my life - 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here are some of those caravan titles I promised -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

And now we are in Onslow -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now We Are Six(Ty-Five)

 'In spite of all that has gone before,

Joy and regrets and love and more,

I think I am glad to be alive

Now that I have reached sixty-five.' 

Danshari went out the window yesterday, sixty-five years since my birth. I couldn't understand why I was in tears on and off during the day after a wonderful evening at the resort the night before,

To say that I am a pain in the arse to my long suffering Michael is the understatement of the century.

I have kept asking myself what the hell was happening to me. I have often considered that there is no hope for me - that I am going to pivot between rage and despair for the rest of my life.

Except for a few trusted people, I wear a mask in public. I have decided to 'come out' with this confession as somebody I knew, who I trusted, was aware about my vulnerabilities may share this information about me.  That person used us and betrayed Michael and me in a dreadful way. 

So being me, I had to search my inner self for answers. There was nowhere else to look, no power from outside knowledge. Just exploring the concealed vestiges of my mind.

There are the usual suspects - a Subdivision that should have been finished a long time ago, monies that had to be dragged out, the worries about Alex's NDIS funding, our exhaustion, Michael's chest infections and other long term health issues, a Gallery that sometimes consumes me, a scam that is unrecognised by ANZ, a struggle to exit the Mailchimp app that costs $31 a month. I am so close to being broken about the constant worry of living hand-to-mouth for so long.

The only way we could afford to go away was to rent out our house. Michael would probably be as happy as Larry if he wasn't burdened with me.

Don't get me wrong, Onslow is such a beautiful place and I am most at peace on the beach  looking for shells with Michael and watching the dogs career around us. I also spent a very happy hour at the Op Shop today and hope to return on Wednesday afternoon.

The Ocean View caravan park is continually packed but as we have the site on the end, we only have one neighbour and a stunning vista across the ocean.

I intend to find a shrink on my return as I am so tired of bouncing from pillar to post. I need to pinpoint what is happening to me, sort out my meds and have a path forward. 

So what has caused this latest bout of negativity, which was most probably triggered by my birthday. These are issues that can never be resolved as there is no ending point.  Out of seven children, four died before or soon after birth, And my only living daughter, who also took Michael's surname, became estranged from us is 2022. She lied to us in her supposed quest from independence. How do I know? A quick search in LinkedIn gave the information that she was employed when she claimed my blog was preventing her from gaining employment.

So I only have my two sons left out of seven children who I birthed. I am so lucky to have Alex, my Autistic Superstar who embraces every day with positivity and confidence. He is currently in holiday in Sydneyhaving a fabulous time in art galleries and museums, the zoo, the Hillsong Conference, all off his own bat. I love him so much and he has overcome such adversity from the moment he was born - a cardiac condition, three surgeries for that complaint, multiple procedures for other issues, an acquired brain injury from open heart surgery, a diagnosis of Autism, low muscle tone, right sided weakness, scoliosis, abnormal gait, sleep apnoea etc etc. And yet he remains the most cheerful man with an incredible work ethic and enthusiasm for life. He takes my breath away with pride.

The there is Callum. He was born after I had been destroyed by the deaths of his older brother and sisters. He was the antidote to grief that I thought would be erased. He was a beautiful, happy and an engaging baby, toddler and boy. He faced his own challenges, brave to stay a primary school when he was ruthlessly tormented, followed by similar experiences in high school. I moved him to another school at the end of year 10, which was better but not perfect.

After my stupidity of spending four months in Queensland, I returned to Perth, bought my duplex and was overwhelmed to have Callum back with me.

He met the glorious Bronwyn in 2009. She was a more than a match for Callum, with her stunning long red hair, her straightforward  attitude and her love for Cal. They were a match made in heaven. I have always also loved her and even more since our estrangement with Vanessa. Together they have built a life together, a house, their teaching roles, a rather irritable cat (except with Bron) and their children, Immy and Violet, who are now three and six years old.

Along with Michael, Alex, Callum, Bronwyn and our adored Grandies are the lights of my life.Yesterday, I was serenaded by Immy singing me 'Happy Birthday' with Cal.

Over the last months, I have made awful mistakes, hurting others that I should never have done so. I acknowledge full acceptance of disastrous lack of judgement. All I can offer as an explanation if that I had and continue to have psychological overload, which caused me to make some dreadful mistakes. To those I have hurt, I am truly sorry and I hope one day everybody who I have wronged can forgive me. 

This is a deeply personal post but one I needed to write. My recovery can only start with me recognising the ghosts of my past and my challenges of my present. I have promised Michael that I will give my all to climb out of my well and love the warmth of the sun once more.

Again no photos as I hope my words will be enough. 

 

How To 'Danshari' My Brain...

 Danshari is the Japanese word for decluttering, which actually consists of three components  - 

Dan (断): Refusing to bring unnecessary items into your home.

Sha (捨): Discarding or letting go of the clutter you already own.

Ri (離): Detaching yourself from materialism and emotional dependency on things.

 Another useful Japanese phrase is  the aesthetic of "Ma" (間)—creating meaningful empty space between objects to allow your mind and eyes to rest.

I have been thinking about the comparison between the removal of unnecessary items around me and instead applying this process to my brain.

Let me explain. My mental health issues were still causing chaos, disordered thoughts, hyper-sensitive emotions, inability to problem solve and feelings of worthlessness. The whole nine yards. 

I had to change my reactions to the stresses that was threatening to derail this much needed break. I couldn't change the circumstances but I could change my responses.

Hence the idea to use the principles of Danshari to 're-calibrate' my brain. 

So I set about creating compartments to disentangle myself from the circumstances I couldn't control.

The first compartment was for the trials of using Mailchimp. This internet tool began as free and I used Mailchimp for years to send over four hundred emails of my Gallery newsletter every month or so. Then Mailchimp began charging a fee, not huge, but living as pensioners, every dollar counts. Plus I had never really understood all its functions, such as adding more contacts to the mailing list. And, the time of writing the newsletter, adding photographs with captions was taking anywhere between three to six hours. I decided that I needed to delete my account.

And that process was a disaster. I believe Mailchimp deliberately makes account deletion almost impossible. After trying to reset my password three times (as naturally I forget passwords as a matter of course), I was a mess. 

Since then, Mailchimp has sent me detailed instructions how to complete deletion but I decided I will tackle that process when I am ready. Which is not at the moment. So we just have to stomach paying for a service I will never use again. 

I apologise to those readers of my newsletter but I just don't have the energy for this task anymore. 

The next compartment is for the  seemingly endless Subdivision of our building, now in its fourth year. Delays and changes have caused a never-ending tale of woe. Michael and I have both suffered from mental health issues as a result and taken turns trying to understand all the players, the processes and the timeline.

The completion date for this Subdivision is next April. I was becoming so anxious that any of my thoughts concerning the Subdivision would leave me in a distressed heap. Hence the need to lock this situation away whilst we are on this break.

A third compartment could be for the reporting of a rort we fell for back in May. We paid $125 for an online consultation with a supposed specialist who never materialised. At the time, I reported this issue to ANZ, gave them the details of the date and time, the amount, the account that took our money and then waited for our refund.

ANZ's responses could be an episode of the "Keystone Cops" if it had not become so frustrating. They have repeatedly asked for 'more documentation'. There is none. This farce resembles the infamous days of the KYC debacle. Vicky Brady, if anybody brings our measly $125 refund plus $25 for pain and suffering, we would be sincerely grateful. I am pretty sure that ANZ could afford to grant us this refund, given their profit margins. However, I doubt our refund will ever happen. 

So, instead, I am not even giving this situation a compartment. I am throwing this directly into a virtual bin, as that is exactly where ANZ's behaviour deserves to be.

As ANZ doesn't have a compartment at all, I am using one for my daughter, Vanessa. I have not spoken to her for four years (if my calculations are correct) and I do miss her dreadfully. But she is on her own journey which I can't share. If I think about her too much, I am consumed by  grief and guilt, even though I have no idea what led to our estrangement. That is why I am so bloody grateful for my boys. 

There is a final compartment which is quite difficult to explain. My brother Michael was recently admitted to hospital after his daughter (I assume that was Rebecca) found him on the floor of his unit. Michael is nearly sixty-nine years old. Apparently, he has since been discharged from hospital, but this situation has really shaken me. 

Michael was so much more than a brother to me when we were children. He was my playmate, my soulmate and my protector. Our mother was chaotic and often just unreachable. If I was frightened or sad or worried, I would go to Michael, often during the night as I was truly scared of the dark. The thought of waking up our mother was untenable.

From my point of view, I believe our mother harmed us all, Michael the most. He left as soon as he could, ending up in Far North Queensland after a stint working around Australia. A marriage and a long term relation, children, moving around, building a house outside Cooktown and supporting a granddaughter, along with his partner Jenny seemed to provide him with purpose. 

Then, over time, his life fell apart. I am not saying that Michael was blameless. I think he was his own worst enemy and if he could, bear some responsibility for the the littered lives around him. I just don't believe he can think that rationally anymore.

My greatest shame is that I have lost touch with him, along with two of his his daughters and one of his grandchildren. I assume he is still living in the unit in Cooktown, but as he has no computer and often no mobile, he is almost impossible to contact. I once phoned the local Cooktown police to undertake a welfare check on him so I could find out if he was alive and talk to him.

I have seen him a few times over recent years, once is Melbourne (when his partner Jenny was dying) twice in Far North Queensland, the second time for Jenny's funeral. 

However, even if I did have regular contact with him, what would we talk about?  My life and his life are poles apart. Apart from his eyes, there is nothing left of the Michael I once knew and loved.  That has made me terribly sad.  

Hence, I have had to place his life and my grief for him in a final compartment. All my life, I have believed in the concept of loving families. Except for Michael and me, time passed almost imperceptibly and was the unrecognised villain. And I use that word quite deliberately.

In my opinion, we all need to share in the lives of our families. If we ever have enough money, I would like the chance to touch base with David, Simon and even Michael, just to let them know they do matter to me. Along with my children and grandchildren, who with my beloved Michael, are the essence of my life. 

No photographs with this post. Just my thoughts and my beliefs. 

And hoping I can use Danshari in my brain whenever I have the need once more.