Welp, I’m On A Break

       Hi guys,

      Yes, that P instead of an L is correct. All the kids are up in that on ye olde internette, except it’s usually an expression of woe is me. Well, it is a little woe is me, thanks to the Golden Crowned Lurgy.

      And yes I’m on holiday. No, not over to see that 99% well-behaved son of mine. Still a travel ban here in Oz and after a quick pray sesh (that’s session, my non-Aussie friends) I really didn’t feel I’d get an exemption. It wasn’t like I was off to fight the GCL on the frontline with Medecins Sans Frontieres.

      So, sadly, that Daddy’s In Town dinner at IHOP will have to wait until next year, hopefully on the back of a vaccine or at least no travel ban.

      Still, I need the break. And a break from Sydney. Hello, Broke in the Hunter Valley, I’m going to visit you, taste some wines, and bring them back. Kinda pricey but, well, why not?

      Okay, I don’t really know what to blog about this week, being a day late, and nothing like last week’s blog to offer, except offer guest blog space on my off weeks – need some audience and reach, and to entertain you lot (admit it, you like content, lot’s of content!). Who knows how it will go? I’ve had one person ask about it but nothing from it. No response 1, Trent meh. Oh well.

      You know what? The need of breaks. Me, to paraphrase Hamilton (King George III is my ringtone now lol), I’m running like I’m running out of time. Maybe it’s not drinking water during the day and before bed, but resting is hard even getting ten hours’ sleep, and feeling fresh in the morning. I can be wiped by the hometime bell, not wanting to rosary it up afterwards, just wanting to vegetate, too lazy to game, watch a movie, read Moby Dick.

      No, we’re not built for long-term stress, living on edge, slaving away on the edge of panic. Throw in the GCL, travel bans, quarantines, border closures, getting the Total Recall nose treatment, financial help missing casualised workforces, and it’s a recipe for disaster. Yeah, I’ll call it that, while certain right-minded (emphasis on the right) individuals, businesspeople, and politicians have a whinge about the pandemic reality – and add to the problem.

      It’s an interesting world to see. All thing considered, I’m rather pragmatic about it, this new normal in the world being my normal for the past, well, 20 years. Yes, I’m concerned, gobsmacked about Victoria, the situations overseas. But, it really is just another day for me.

      Enough of me, how do we do breaks in the face of the Gojira of colds and flus? Victoria has a curfew, and Melburnians just can’t duck off to the Yarra Valley like I can nip up the Hunter. How do we do breaks in general? Parts of this world won’t have the luck of Jobkeeper, and are still stuck in the “joy” of wars, famines, neglect of the poor. Why am I/we so lucky, when others aren’t?

      I’m sorry I don’t have the answer, or the means to get everyone a break. Well, I do, but it’s a manic dream of a step to the left, no more blowing each other up, getting back to the imperfect ideals of commonwealths, equity and equality.

      Maybe we can aim for that stuff, taking breaks, rather than racing headlong to, “Cheer up, Jack, I’m alright.” Maybe that’s the silver lining of the Golden Crowned Lurgy, if we look for it. For now, I’ll leave it there, on the hope of a good one, and with links to my last post, and my Three Ways self-interview.

      T.M.

Justice, Sometimes, Be Done

      The following relates to me being sexually abused as a child. If you have been harmed now, or in the past, please seek support if you need it, and report if you can - you're worth it.

      Hi guys,

      Well, it’s been three weeks. Yes, no more fortnight blogging, just to be fair to myself. Also being fair to myself, adding a bunch of Trek to my movie collection (I watched Into Cheapness last night. Derivative as hell, I’ll keep my Wrath of Khaaaaaaaaan!). Not being fair to myself, skipping recovery meetings. I’ll crawl back Sunday.

      Life is a bit mixed for me. #Bipolar. #MessedUp. #Hurt. There’s pains there I wouldn’t wish on anybody, and while there are people worse off than me, it’s hurt more than you can imagine. Somehow, I’ve scraped through it all. #Survival. This week, some of those pains were resolved.

      I’m a child sex abuse survivor. And last year, I made the decision to apply for the redress scheme here in Australia. I’d already gone through EMDR therapy for the flashbacks. I’d latched onto forgiveness for my abuser. But it was a huge step to apply, because I didn’t feel worth it; it took a lot of self-convincing, and it was a couple of months before I actually did it.

      But, at last, I had the statutory declaration signed, scanned, attached, and pressed the magic apply button. And in the moment that followed, I decided to go forward to Police, and make a report. I’d gone one step, why not the next?

      A week later, I spent an awful three hours with the detective. I was scared to go in, my GF at the time said I looked brave, but I felt like S. H. I. T. After a long crawl detailing the incidents (yes, plural), I was free to go, and home I went. Harrowed to say the least, the worst of it was my mother’s “help” (with a comment that broke my heart). I’ll spare the details, but yeah, not how you help your son out. And the wait began.

      Tuesday, I got a call on a private number, Human Services; after the identifying bit, the National Redress Scheme. My application was successful, all I had to do was select if I wanted a compensation payment, therapy, and a personal apology. Success, “Thanks,” and, “Goodbye.” And the world went dark.

      You’d think relief at the success. No, I went to deep meh. But knew I had to go through it, whether I understood it or not. Good old time to pray, “I don’t know what I need, show me what I need.” Evidently an outreach call, never mind there’s a GF saying I can speak to them whatever, but I really needed that other voice. Another day, more dark, and I held on; and that night, the feelings – I’m being vengeful, I’m not worth it.

      That understanding, the call advice, “Feelings aren’t forever,” and a good night’s sleep, boosted me Thursday. My resolve was to sign the paperwork and send it back as soon as I got it, no matter that vengeance/unworth. I got it Friday, signed, and sent it on its way – compensation and therapy, please, hold the apology (I think it’d ring hollow).

      Then got another call from a private number, the detectives. They’d charged my abuser, and the next step is the wait for court. Based on what I know of previous cases, and what I was told by the detective, justice be done. 

      I’m not celebratory. It’s not right, not when others might not get redress (or have it stretched out unnecessarily), not when others may not even see charges laid (it’s only one out of my three abusers), not when others are scared to report (I said in tears when the abuses were found out back in 1994, “Nothing happened,” and lied to the detective on the phone).

      Okay, I’ll stop pretending it’s about me, because these are the people I’m thinking of. Justice might be there, but it’s not always done, or sought, and sometimes gets thrown out, for various reasons. My outcome is a drop in a big ocean I wish wasn’t there, and I wish I could throw floaty rings in as needed.

      It’s my hope that, in this current world of reporting, of news of reporting, even despite losses, that those afraid will find strength – and support – to report. Can it be your hope, too? And something you can speak for?

      I’ll leave it there, and skip the usual good one – it’s heavy, and there are those who won’t see good come.

      Take care,

      T.M.