Arise from the Drops

       Hi guys,

      Yep, missed blog week again.

      I don’t mind, really. It’s probably for the best, as nihilistic as my intended post was going to get. Not Macbeth level – though the murdery crazy guy has a point – but, well, something best left unsaid for now. Trent 1, the doldrums meh.

      Honestly, I don’t know what to peck into shiny laptop of a word processor now. I’d hit a bottom recently, c’est la recoverie vie (gasp, French!) and was due the restart, the constancy of it debilitating in its way. I went and got both of them, and here I am a week later, filling my blog with letters grouped in the shape of English words, and all in all balanced.

      Ahh, a shudder-buzz. Found the right thing. The joys of understanding your own psychosomatics (gasp, big word!). Not so much the feeling of loneliness despite being in church right next to the GF, or the triggered thoughts at, well, I’ll call them inopportune times. But there it is, I’m balanced, and that is a good thing.

      But now I have a big question for myself, and wondering if I have the energy to go through with it. The Ways In is going nowhere, and there’s been no movement cover-wise, but such is my decided lot with that. And writing The Ways Out? Well, um, yeah, I, uh, I’m doodling up the map of a medieval fantasy kingdom. #WriterLife. And yes, it’s making me happy.

      Another shudder-buzz. Yay me.

      Also, it’s mildly possible I’ll have an announcement soon. See how I go.

      In other news, weather continues poorly, quite Melburnian this last week in ye olde Sydney towne. Also Melbourne has been let out to play now the virus is in check, yay! (And I think I have it tough). And I really have nothing further to add.

      I’ll leave it there, short and sweet. Hope you have a good one!

      T. M.

So, I Missed a Blogging Date...

 

      Hi guys,

……Yes, it’s another case of the welps, because yes, I didn’t blog three weeks ago. Maybe it’s because I had nothing to say. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe I made chocolate evaporate somewhere in the world. Anyway, now to the current, what’s a guy to blog?

      No, seriously, send me a topic. 2020 and how it’s like Thanos riding Cthulhu? The great Xbox X shortage and how Microsoft should have played Age of Covid? (Yes, I’d like to buy an Xbox. Yes, I’ve put a deposit on Cyberpunk 2077 because it comes out on my birthday. Yes, I can wait until then, but still, WTH?!) How hoping a certain someone who recently got Covid dies makes you a terrible person?

      Maybe that lack of nicety is a good point. I don’t know if I want to go into it, “Who are you to push your morals on me.” It’s certainly saying something of divisive characters raising the hackles and ire of whole tracts of society, just as it’s saying something about you to celebrate illness – in my view, you may as well be mocking people with cancer. And given said individual mocked someone disabled, it makes you no better than them.

      But there’s more to lack of nicety in the external. What about the internal? Self-loathing is a thing; I know it because I’ve been there, got the T-shirt, still wearing it. These last two weeks I’ve had the S. H. I. T’s, especially on the roads, and as much as I said my piece on external un-nicety times three Friday, it came back to me on my recovery journey and a trip to the meeting room rather than on Zoom.

      Yes, those S. H. I. T’s are mine, related to my internal pain rather than traffic or dabblers in schardenfreude; well, highlighted, too. Not getting my way, getting slowed down, held up. Seeing spitefulness, lording it over on people disliked. Yes, there is an external cause of these things, but the hate is really against me. The only options are to let it lord over me, or do something about it. But what?

      I found the answer to that this morning, thanks to that breeding dog known as hindsight, courtesy of recovery. Maybe it can work for everyone in the self-loathing boat, but many of those boats are far out to sea, the external and/or internal pain causing it makes abstinence difficult, or nigh impossible. The short of it is marking it as something not to do; the long of it is it takes a lot of work with stumbles along the way, and needs help.

      I don’t know if I’m waffling on here or making a point. Maybe there isn’t a point, it’s for the best, and I’m sorry about the chocolate. But please have a think about the self-loather, and what’s going on for them to feel that way.

      Hope you have a good one,

      T. M.

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.

After a Time in the Wilderness

      Hi guys,

      Long time, no blog! Yes, it’s been like that. Okay, it’s not the Golden Crowned Lurgy keeping me down. I might’ve blogged more if that was the case. But life’s been, well, interesting, not very writey, but I’m making some headway into The Ways Out – chapter three, baby!

      So, how does it feel getting onto book two when I haven’t gotten anywhere on selling, much less advertising, The Ways In? And noting my style has tightened, and in a sudden side project (#writerlife) has seen me get even more economical? And that life’s been a bit more alluring than writing, and going to church?

      Okay, I really don’t know where I’m going with this blog. But in the spirit of perseverance, here goes answering.

      I feel weird writing TWO. In fact, I felt like I had to re-write the two chapters I’d already committed. Thanks to a text narrator read through, these read well, and are sitting much better with me now. Just a niggling doubt now, but I think I can leave that until editing.

      The weirdness kept me writing just snippets at a time. Today is almost two pages, when courtesy of a conversation that ended with “Can’t wait to read your next blog post,” I turned to writing this. Back to TWO, post readthrough, it doesn’t feel like I’ve gone bits at a time. But where I had planned a one page get through to a main moment, it’s stretched to two pages and I don’t know how long the next moment is going to take.

      In fact, I’m plotted out until the end, but found I have too much going on for the chapters I had planned. The aim was 23 chapters, same as with part one, but I think there’s going to be a few extra chapters by the time I’m done, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about that.

      Maybe I’m just being hard on myself. Maybe those parts of life that seem good, that have kept me company in recent weeks, have just been too alluring to get into writing. I think I let things get between me and the writing, and that much needed me-time. Or it was really just my meds change that was screwing with my sleep. Or everything, thrown in with pure lazy. I’m complex like that.

      I’ll leave it there, don’t want to wallow. But I’m going to plan to blog three weeks from now, let go of the ambition and leave myself room to keep it meaningful. Oh, and being that wonder of tax time, do that all important return, and spend some money on an editor and a cover – I need one for Smashwords.

      And a Jesus fish and a Darwin axolotl. And there’s a blog smile :D.

      Hope to be back to this sooner, and a bit more twittery to boot.

      Have a good one!

      T.M.