Backup

Back up.  It’s saved my life more times than I can count.  I have a document I keep on my desktop and all off my writing goes into that document.  FB posts, blog posts, personal journalling, stories, poems, words of wisdom I’ve come across and want to remember… if it’s rolled off my fingertips, it’s in that document. 

It’s my one stop shop to review things.  If I need to know when something happened, it’ll be in the document and I’ll have the date and the time I wrote about it to help inform me of exactly when it happened.  I’ve relied on it more times than I can count.

I first began putting things into a computer rather than a paper journal back in 1996 when I was made redundant and spent part of my payout on a personal computer.  I’d never had a computer, been on the internet, nor used a windows environment before.  I’d always used a WANG mainframe at work.  Suddenly, I needed a new job and windows environments were ALL business were using in workplaces.  I needed to learn FAST.

A bit of searching on the net proved that courses were available but for Word, I’d have to do a class in Windows 3.1 first to get me used to the basic environment.  $150.  Then I could enroll in the class to do Word Basic – another $150.  For Word Intermediate – $150.  Word Advanced – $150.   Someone was making out like a bandit. 

That would be $600 for me to master just ONE application in the Microsoft Office pantheon.  It didn’t include Excel or PowerPoint, let alone Access or Email.  Those were all separate.

If I had wanted to do Excel as well, again Bacic – $150, Intermediate – $150. Advanced – $150.  By this time, I’d have been up to $1200 and only learned 2 applications!  I thought that was a total rip off and there had to be a better way.

In a bookstore, I found a manual on Microsoft Office and I bought it.  There were manuals on each of the applications (Word, Excel, etc) but I could get all that information in one book if I bought the complete manual.  For $80, it sounded like a deal.  I brought it home and spent the next 3 weeks poring over it until I got those skills down pat.  The first thing I did was draft my resume onto my own computer, then I could print it out and send it to prospective employers with my applications for work.

I also kept my personal journal on the computer but I made the rookie mistake of saving it on a 3.5 inch floppy disk instead of the actual hard drive.  Imagine my shock when one day the disk corrupted and I lost my entire journal.  I learned ALL about the power of back up right there.  It’s been my sacred creed ever since.

Today, I have my documents on my hard drive, but I also keep a USB thumb drive connected to my computer  (one of the teeny tiny ones rather than a stick) and I back everything up on it.  If I’m likely to find it important, it goes on there.

When I do a reset on my computer, I back the entire drive up to one of several 5Tb passport drives I have.  I know that sounds excessive but having that many is necessary to back up all my photos (I was a hobby photographer and have thousands of images from all the pics I’ve taken), plus all my thousands of music and video files.

My first hard drive back in 1996 was just 7Gb.  My current hard drive is 1TB which is ample for my day to day needs but for lesser used files I want handy, passport drives are invaluable.

Since the day that floppy disk corrupted, I learned.  Everything is backed up.  And I mean – everything.  Nothing slips through.  And there are times like tonight when I am incredibly grateful this is so.

I went to access my 2025 document to write a journal piece and the document was missing from my desktop.  Somehow, I had deleted it.  In other situations, this might have been a nightmare.  For me, it didn’t even make my blood pressure twitch.  I simply went to the USB thumb drive, found the document and copied it to my desktop.  Since I had backed up the document to that drive as part of my habit when closing it, the copy was the latest information.  I had normality restored in under 60 seconds.

Computers are great for storing in formation but unfortunately, hard drive get surged or files corrupt for no reason other than that they can.  Once that happens, the loss can be terrible and depending on the document, result in the loss of incalculable days of hard work being lost.

I will always believe in a solid backup.  I would much rather have the effort of constantly backing up (which usually only takes a minute or so at worst) than lose all my work in an unrecoverable moment of electronic glitch.

Since writing and journalling is an essential part of my mindset and keeping myself balanced and on firm footing in the world, having it gone or damaged is like having my world entirely upended.  Writing externalizes things that upset me and allows me to put them down and move on with life.  The act of writing is meditative and calming for me so I find it pleasurable.

Best of all, for me, having journals that go back to my teenage years (and before) I can see the arc of who I was to who I am now.  This allows for reminisce and reflect on past issues with clearer hindsight than I would ever have with just my own memory to rely on. 

In situations such as dealing with my mother, this has been invaluable because I have a ‘witness’ to the event and can re-examine it from that point of view rather than a modern-day memory which is clouded by emotions and subject to gaps in the account. 

When I read back over previous entries, I am no longer ‘first person’ in them, thus I read them from a broader, more contemplative perspective.  Reflecting from memory feels more ‘first person’ and that’s not always helpful.  To lose all that information and the past perspective it can offer me on current situations would be incalculably terrible for me.  As you can imagine, I value my backups greater than gold; particularly where the messy matter of mother is concerned and I need to refresh as closely as possible as to what ACTUALLY happened rather than what I recall happened.

My words of wisdom on the matter are simple; always backup without exception.  Just like we keep important papers which we may need in the future, safeguarding your files is no different just because they’re electronic.  Personally, I n my case, I scan the important papers in case something happens to the originals.  Scanners should also be one of your best friends.

Imagine if there was a house fire and you wanted to grab the important things and run.  If you only had to grab a passport drive and know you had all your music, photos and documents safely in your hand, wouldn’t that be peace of mind?  They’re small and easily grabbed in an emergency.  And in that one device can be all the family photos and videos, not to mention household documents you need for legal purposes. 

At times like tonight when I realize an important document has gone missing, I can retore it and move forward with complete ease, is just too precious not to have as MY life backup.  That’s the kind of peace of mind I’m happy to shell out for

Direct Therapy

I have been doing a lot of thinking about hypnotherapy since I began exploring hypnosis for pain management a few weeks back.  I have also been listening to hypnotic tracks on YouTube for deep sleep and relaxation.  This, too, has got me thinking.

Allow me to clarify.  The hypnosis is helping me get some rest which is nice, and it’s not that I’m concerned with, it’s the fundamental basis behind it that intrigues me.

As human beings, we are hotwired to need.  It doesn’t matter what the issue is, we don’t go after something we don’t want.  When we want it, we can come up with a million reasons to go after it without even blinking.

Think about it.  There’s a piece of cake on a plate at a wedding and the person it belongs is happily occupied on the dance floor.  You want it but society tells us that we already had our piece and taking someone else’s is wrong and although we never use the term, it’s actually theft. 

But they’re elsewhere occupied, they must not want it because they didn’t eat it, they’ve hit the dance floor so have effectively abandoned the slice, and (if you’re from my generation) there are starving children in Africa so wasting food would be a moral crime and a sin that would send you straight to hell without passing ‘go’.

Having come up with all these rationalizations, we have diminished the situation so that we look innocent if we take the slice and even heroic for doing the right thing in not letting it go to waste.  In fact, the rightful owner of that slice is some kind of twisted bully if they have a problem with someone else taking it and besides, “it’s only a piece of cake, what are you carrying on about?” 

We reframe the situation so our misdeed is now ‘correct’ and the injured party are a ‘bully’ for ‘beating up’ on someone else over some ‘so trivial’.  Did yu pick up on the underlying read on this situation?

If we see and want, we take and we are brilliant at diminishing the situation to almost nothing as it makes our needs then look far more righteous and the objector looks to be in the wrong for making a big deal (however correctly) and no matter who the wronged party is, we diminish THEM as well in order to satisfy our needs, so it’s no wonder people feel they’ve been sold out or stabbed in the back by those who are supposed to care about them as this happen most often with people we know – family, friends and co-workers.

Too many hypnotherapists dive in without understanding the motivation behind the behaviour.  If you don’t address the root cause, you cannot affect long lasting change.  Any doctor can operate and diagnose a lump as cancerous but if you don’t remove the whole thing and treat the cause, it’s going to come back and pop up in a lore more places.  This is also true of hypnotherapy.

If the therapist doesn’t do their due diligence and identify WHY the unwanted behaviour is occurring, they haven’t a hope of producing long term change and of course, a client who doesn’t experience the desired change soon loses faith in the modality.  Alas, a lot of therapists want the quick fix and would rather not waste time and energy investigating the deep issues behind the problematic behaviour.

It doesn’t have to take long.  A good client induction questionnaire, some good, insightful questioning, and a bit of consideration of how these things got started and how to change the status quo in a meaningful way, and you’ve got all you need to be a real help to the client. 

I find it disheartening that many do not choose to take that approach and I wonder what THEIR motivation is for failing to do so.  As close as I can intuit, it’s about money.  There is no care if the change is long term or not because if a client ceases therapy, there are always new ones to fill that session on the calendar, thus continued income.  I find that approach to be very cold and unfeeling.  Being in the game to fleece sheep and amass a big bank account doing a job that looks fairly easy, is the wrong reason to engage in ANY work, let along therapy.

I have also been exploring the issues around the sub-conscious and motivational equations.  I think with a bit of work, that could be developed into a viable therapy on its own, but I’d hate to see these leech therapists grasping onto it and setting up a ‘smoking cessation’ business and using it as a lazy tool to make a quick buck.  On the other hand, I know it could work. 

We’re creatures of habit and absolutely everything we do fills a need we have – even if we don’t want to admit it and less again if it’s something we’re not proud of.  But we do it.  All of us.  An I mean – ALL.  I’m sorry to break it to you but you’re not the one special individual on this planet is the one in over 7 billion people whose exempt from this.

If you want a donut and one is available, you’ll come up with all kinds of reasons to give yourself permission to have it.  You’ve not had anything since lunch and you’re hungry.  You’ve been eating only good food lately and deserve a treat.  They’re not expensive.  They’re there and it would be a waste not to have one.  It goes on and on, and the next thing you know, you’re over there shelling out your money for a yummy treat.

Nobody is standing there talking themselves OUT of it.  If they were, then they really didn’t want the donut to begin with.  If they DID want it, they’d have talked themselves into it by diminishing all objections to the contrary.  That’s just how human beings work.

So, can hypnosis actually change unwanted behaviour such as smoking cessation and weight loss which are two of the primary reasons people turn up in a hypnotherapists office and which are basically an hypnotherapists bread and butter.  The short answer is yes, it can work very successfully but the therapist has to invest time and effort into the client to properly address the issue.

That begins with training.  Ask the therapist what kind of training they did and the duration thereof.  That will tell you a massive amount right there.

Tad James advertises a “learn NLP / Hypnotherapy” and it’s a 3-day course.  By the end of it, in most places across the globe, you can legally hang out a shingle and legitimately call yourself a practitioner.  No membership with any recognized Association or ongoing training.  Just a “one and done” event over the course of a weekend.

If you were going in for abdominal surgery, would you be satisfied with a surgeon who had done just 3 days of medical training in total?  I sure as hell wouldn’t be. 

My own training was over the course of a year with both written and practical assessments along with continuation of training with a supervisor who consults with the therapist for years after to ensure ongoing development.

We had to join a recognized Association to obtain insurance, register our business with ASIC, and continue to attend ongoing training courses under POD (personal ongoing development) as a requirement of continuing to hold Association membership.   Let me tell you, the course was anything but a cheap and shallow 3-day dive into the barest of basics.  However, at the end of it, I have a decent qualification which will stand scrutiny and a good understanding of what brings people to do what they do.

For our 3-day flyers, they can induce a superficial trance in most cases, although they really have just one technique and if that doesn’t work, they’re at a loss.  Some people are resistant to gradual relaxation and the therapist has to get past that barrier in order to induce proper trance.  Flyers, never learn that.

Their primary therapy imposed is to use a control room which is where you guide a client so they can see the issue visually whether it be with screens, buttons or even a hologram.  The client is then guided to use these representations to ‘dial down’ the issue to a comfortable level.  For most flyers, that’s it, therapy completed.  In fact, it’s barely the beginning.  I personally regard a control room as the equivalent of putting just a band-aid on a gushing wound.

A good therapist has an excellent understanding of psychology, both the conscious and subconscious and how they can work together to effect change in the real world.  I have always felt it’s as incumbent upon the client to question the credentials of the therapist as it is for the therapist to explore the client issues in depth. 

I would really love to conduct a course on how we can use the subconscious to best effect.

Again, consider, it’s really the equivalent of a person doing an 8-hour first aid course and announcing that they’re now fully qualified to hang out a shingle as a General Practitioner to see genuinely sick people.  There are reasons why GPs need to go through all those years of school and training under supervised practice.  We all know that there is so much more to treating a patient than justs looking at the obvious wound or symptoms.  If you’re going to ignore the rest, then you’re going to do far more harm than good.

My ultimate goal is to create an effective hypnotherapy program for those in chronic pain because lord knows, they need whatever relief they can get.  While drugs are helpful, they require very strong drugs to make it through the day and eventually the body builds a tolerance so increased doses are needed to obtain the same relief.  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was a therapy that didn’t require drugs would could also offer relief?

My feeling is that simple affirmations are not going to be enough.  I will need to delve deeper into the causes and behaviour which are not unhelpful to the situation and why they are ongoing when the client clearly knows they are obstructive to the situation.

This will take time and a LOT of careful thought and consideration.  Being in chronic pain myself, I have an excellent reference for what does and does not work.  I know how medications can impede and detract from regular treatment and why standard techniques are thus, unhelpful and non-resultant in an favorable outcome.

My current research and conclusions are pointing me towards therapy directly and entirely targeted to the sub-conscious bypassing the active brain altogether.  It might work.  I will have to do more research.  But wouldn’t it be lovely if those in massive pain from which thye cannot escape, could be helped in a meaningful way to create a better existence? 

Trust me when I say that 24-hour pain every single day of your life for years on end is a misery NOBODY should ever have inflicted upon them.  I’d so love to help those thus afflicted.

Raging

I swear to God, the more time I have on my hands, the more issues seem to come up.  Normally, I’m busy with work issues and dramas and I have a head full of that shit.  Not at the moment.  Without daily work dramas to deal with, older issues I’ve pushed down inside where I never have to deal with them have begun to surface.  And it’s surprising how many things I’ve never addressed.

Mostly, it’s a mother thing. That should be no surprise to anyone who’s ever met me, but the usual issues around her insatiable narcissism and wanton manipulation are taking second stage at the moment. 

Right now, I’m furious about more physical abuse.  And I have absolutely every right to be.  The only surprise to me is that I haven’t detonated about this decades ago.  It’s just been pushed down time and again and left to fester.  Well, not anymore and certainly, not today.

It literally began when I was born.  As my mother tells the story, my sister, Julia, had been Dad’s Pet until I came along.  She was 2 years older than me.  Apparently, there was one day when Dad more or less pushed her aside so he could look at me.  This infuriated Julia and she absolutely NEVER forgave me for it.  And I mean, NEVER. 

If you listen to my mother, Julia came to her asking “doesn’t Daddy love me anymore?”  Well, yeah, that’s pretty heartbreaking and certainly healthy parenting was never on the agenda in that house, but I was still barely out of the friggin hospital.  To take it out on me was outrageously unfair.  But she did.  And she kept doing it, right up to her death when she was 2 months short of her 37^th.

There were 3 bedrooms in the house.  Parents had one.  Brother had one because he’s a boy.  We girls had to share number 3.  You try sleeping across the room from someone when you never knew if they’d lie there and sleep or fly out of bed and smash your head in because you said something in a tone they didn’t like or even just because they were in a bad mood.  That was my childhood.  I literally wasn’t safe in my own bed and since I had to share the room, I had no place to go for a sanctuary.

When it was time for me to begin school, Julia was supposed to show me the way.  It was fairly easy.  Down the end of the street, up a long laneway, across a road, up a shorter laneway and wham, enter through one off the back school gates.  Except as I followed her through that gate the first time, she turned and snarled “get away from me” because she didn’t want to be seen with me as though I were some kind of filthy, disgusting piece of vermin.  She repeated that many times thereafter.  You don’t know what it’s like to feel utterly rejected?  That vision might help you get a feel.

Dad left for work before we kids were up.  Mum left for work at 8am.  My brother went to a different school and left about 8.10am.  Julia and I didn’t have to be at school until 9 and we were only a 10 minute walk on back streets away.  That left a LOT of time before school when it was just her and me in the house.

Similarly, we got out of school at 3.30 and were home by 3.40pm at the latest.  Dad didn’t get home until after 5.30pm.  Again, a lot of time without any adult supervision.  Latch key kids were common in those days and after school care was not a thing.  Nowadays, it’s illegal to leave children alone at home unsupervised.  Not so back in the day.

Julia had a LOT of time available to her to make me pay for simply daring to exist and she absolutely took advantage of it.  At first, it was cruel names and perhaps the occasional slap or kick.  She was reticent because she feared punishment, and in those days it was the strap in our household. 

However, I would tell Mum what she’d done and her response was always the same.  She’d turn to Julia and say “bad girl Julia, don’t do that again.”  And that was it.  No other punishment ever ensued.  And let me assure you, Julia was no idiot.  She very quickly worked out that she could get away with hitting me and she wouldn’t even cop a light tap on the wrist as a result.  She very quickly escalated.

So, from then on, every morning before and after school, I copped it – big time.  I was slapped, punched, kicked thrown into walls or chairs and generally beaten senseless.  And it took absolutely nothing to set her off. 

My brother was initially given authority over us as he was the eldest but he generally sided with her and when she beat me up, he did nothing but tell us we were both a pair of idiots.  To this day, he’ll say the same thing.  Well, thank you for blaming me for being beaten up for no reason at all.  Much appreciated oh big brother who was supposed to step in, break it up, and keep me safe.  You absolutely failed in your role because you abdicated it in favour of watching your favourite TV shows and you didn’t want to be bothered.   

On the rare occasion he DID step in, he’d literally shove his bigger body into mine and push me into my room and slam the door on me, because although I was the one being beaten up, I was also the one who needed the time out.  Then he’d go back to the lounge and proceed to watch his shows with Julia alongside.  There’s nothing like being punished for being the victim, is there?  I quickly learned that he wasn’t safe either.  It was always going to be the two of the against one of me and at that time, I still hadn’t figured out what terrible crime I’d committed to deserve any of this in the first place.

By about my middle years at Primary School, my brother was in High School and after school, he spent time with friends and wouldn’t come home until about 5.30pm too.  So, it really was just Julia and me in the house alone.

Of course, I would call Mum at work and tell her Julia was hitting me.  And of course, she did nothing.  Mostly, she just blew out her breath in an angry fashion and snapped at me “well what do you want ME to do about it?”  Um, make it stop?  Dish out some kind of punishment instead of just throwing me to the wolf and watching her making a meal of me?

The only response I could come up with to that question was a lame “nothing”, which I said so she wouldn’t be angry with me because when she was, sure as hell there was punishment for ME when she got home.  Julia, got off scott free every time.

By the time Mum came home, the subject of whatever I’d copped was never raised.  It was utterly ignored as if it never happened.  By that time, Julia wasn’t even told she was a bad girl anymore.  And that’s the reality I came to think of as normal growing up.  Then Mum doubled down.

It took me forever to finally realize that Mum wasn’t doing anything because she was in divide and conquer mode.  If she turned all of us against each other, then the one stable force in the house giving any kind of approval would be her.  Besides making us very dependent on her emotionally, it also made us the perfect victims to her mind games and manipulations.  I didn’t wake up to that one until I was in my late 20s but when I did, I had to change my perspective about my family and I can’t tell you how incredibly hard it was to do that.  I’d known that I was a victim, I had never seen that so were my siblings.

In my teens, my brother moved out of home and I couldn’t grab his room fast enough.  I finally had a sanctuary of my own.  A place I could close the door and shut them all out.  It didn’t matter that there was no lock on the door and anyone could (and did) just barge in without ever knocking.  It was MY space and I didn’t have to share it with a vile bitch who would fly at me if I so much as breathed in a way she didn’t like.

When I was about 21, Mum and Dad decided to go off on a holiday together and they left Julia and I at home for about 2 weeks.  By that time, she had a fiancé who thought the sun shone out of her no matter how many times he stayed over at our house and knew precisely how she treated me.  He just ignored it all, until she ended up turning her bitchy attitude on HIM after about 11 years of marriage.  They were in the process off divorcing when she died in 2000 because he’d finally had a gutful of being walked all over by her.  Better late than never, I suppose.

Anyway, I was at the kitchen table eating dinner while I read a book when they both came home from someplace.  She demanded to know if there had been any phone messages for her.  For some reason, I challenged her and told her I didn’t know.  Of course, she came stomping up the hall in a temper and punched me squarely in the temple as hard has as she could.

I stood to be in a less vulnerable position but I was trapped.  I had the oven on my left, the table on my right and she was in front of me body blocking me entirely.  I couldn’t get past her to the door.

She threw another punch at me and I ducked.  As I did so, a butter knife scraped against her bare arm.  The knife was one we’d used as children so it wasn’t sharp or in any way a danger to anyone.  I’m pretty sure I could have stabbed someone with it and barely scratched the skin.  However, she glanced at her arm and then stepped away and crossed the room to the counter where the carving knife was kept.

It was a Wiltshire Staysharp Carving Knife which comes with it’s own scabbard which sharpens the blade to razor precision every time the knife is drawn or replaced.  She pulled it and held it out pointed towards me.  I knew this wasn’t going to end well.  She’d beaten me senseless many times but never actually pulled a weapon on me.

She ran the blade along the butter knife which was still in my hand to show me she wasn’t afraid to use it, then she held it to my throat and she was a heartbeat away from drawing blood.

Her fiancé came in and grabbed both her wrists from behind to prevent her from using the knife.  She was furious with him and fought but he was stronger and got the knife away.  I took the opportunity to duck past them and ran right out the front door to a neighbor’s house a few doors down.  He went back to the house and spoke to her to find out what had happened, but I ended up spending the night in his house.  The next day, I had to go home of courses, and of course, everyone acted like it never happened.

My parents found out about it of course.  No punishment ensued against Julia.  I copped it bad for daring to go to that particular neighbor instead of the one they would have preferred, and for letting the public see how imperfect we really were.  The family credo dictated that It didn’t matter what happened behind closed doors as long as nobody every found out.

Nobody ever seemed to have a problem with the fact that I’d had a friggin razor sharp knife held to my throat.  And I haven’t got words for how shocked I was that her fiancé went ahead and married her after he saw that and had to intervene. 

I always thought he must have been utterly brain damaged to continue to wed someone so psychopathic.  Did he think things would be different because it was him and not me available to take her temper out on.  She was used to lashing out physically when she was in a bad mood.  Who the hell did he THINK she was going to take her temper out on when I wasn’t around? 

In the years that followed, she had a son she refused to let me see.  She only came to one Xmas when I was there and after that, she visited the day before or after Xmas so I wouldn’t be able to see my nephew.  When I niece was borth, I was only told at the last minute when she was in labor and I wasn’t allowed to see her either.  The first time I saw her was when I visited Julia’s house in the 3 weeks before she died from cancer.  She was about 8 at the time.

Mum was still doing divide an conquer.  If I visited and she mentioned that she had photos of my nephew, I was only allowed to view them if I sat in a chair with hands out, palms up, so she could place each one on my hands.  This was to prevent me putting fingerprints on them that Julia might recognize as mine.  Did you ever hear anything so utterly ridiculous in your life?  But that’s what I had to do in order to be allowed to see them – and even then, I had to promise never to mention having seen them in case Julia found out because she’d be furious.

Things like that were designed to make me think Mum was going behind Julia’s back to benefit me, as if she were secretly on my side or something.

Was I allowed to take my nephew for a walk in the pram when Julia was out?  Oh, hell no!  People would see and Julia would be told.  By this time Julia pretty much had th run of the family and it was all about not upsetting her.  It didn’t appear to occur to anyone to step and put a stop her to her open bullying.

One day, I visited Mum and took home a book I’d been given as a child called Pierre Bear and Friends.  I’d always adored that book and it was in it that I actually read my first sentence.  I had been looking at the pictures one day when I was about 5 and suddenly one of the paragraphs just clicked into place and I understood every word.  I was so excited that I ran into the kitchen where Mum was ironing shouting “I can read, I can read”, and then I read the first sentence of the paragraph – “One find day out in the meadow…”  Then I told he I was going back to the couch to read some more.  I might have had problems with other subjects but reading and language where never going to be any kind of stumbling block for me.

Because that book was the one with which I’d had a huge milestone, I brought it home with me.  After all, it had been given to me.  It was mine.  Why shouldn’t I have it even though I was now an adult?

A few days later, Mum rang me to ask if I had taken the book.  She tried to manipulate me into giving it back say s “ aww Lucas just adores that book” as if that should make some kind of difference to me.  She did the full force guilt trip saying how upset he was and how much he’d loved the book.  Like I should care.

I had no relationship with the child.  I could count on one hand with plenty of fingers to spare the number of times I’d ever seen hm.  I certainly hadn’t spent any time with him.  I don’t know why she thought it would break my heart if he was upset about being denied the book.  He was (and is) a total stranger to me.  I told her I didn’t have it and shut the conversation down, hard.

I was never allowed to play a part in the life of either of the children.  It was the whole “get away from me” thing again and just another way to hurt me.

 The first time I met Corrine was at the hospital where Julia had been taken and that was 3 weeks before she died.  She was about 8 at the time. Mum assured me both children knew who I was because she had my picture on her mantle and the kids had seen it.  Well how nice for them.  

I’d never been shown so much as a single photo of Corinne and could have passed he in the street and neve known who she was.  I knew OF her but she was just another face in the street to me.  Lucas was about 9 at that time and the only reason I could recognize him was because I’d saf on a sofa as pictures of him had been laide in my flat, open hands because was either jump through that hoop or be denied seeing the photos at all. 

The entirety of my life I had been furious with Julia for her abuse and ostracization as if I didn’t exist in the family.  What I should have been angry about was the fact that Mum was actively colluding with her to treat m that way and doing nothing to help address the situation. 

However, if she HAD done anything, it would have undermined the control she had ov us all and she simply couldn’t stand that.  Mum made it clear that Julia was her pet.  I was dad’s pet.  My brother was nobody’s pet and wanted nothing to do with any of us at all under any circumstances.  The divide and conquer strategy had worked a treat for her.

Mum’s strategy was simple.  If we hated each other and didn’t have each other’s backs then she could jump us through whatever hoops she liked and we’d be more vulnerable to it because we were all isolated, not a team who could draw support from each other.

So, in addition to being furious with my mother for her emotional abuse and constant outright abusive manipulation, I am perhaps more angry about that she didn’t kept me safe, let alone lift a finger to help me, but in fact, quietly stoked the fire wherever she could to ensure the situation continued.

When I think of the number of years I spent begging for her help and desperate for any kind of protection, it just makes me sick to my stomach.  I cannot believe I was so naïve and utterly STUPID I was.  I should have been able to see through it all by the time I was in primary school.

As I said, I wised up to how badly I’d been abused although it took a long time to finally see that all families weren’t this way.  I took me even longer to realize that both my siblings were victims to her machinations as well.  To me, they’d always seemed to enjoy a privileged position without punishment or ramifications of any kind.  How wrong I was.

So, now I need to deal with my raging fury over how unprotected I was and how a situation that saw me physically abused hundreds of times was not only approved of by the person who should have stepped up and shut it all down, but who was actively ensuring it continued.

And to this day, I’ve never take it up with my mother to have it out.  Not once.  If I thought I could control my temper, I’d ring her tomorrow and utterly eviscerate her.  Unfortunately, I have extremely high blood pressure (often over 200) and having that fight could very easily result in a heart attack or a stroke.  I want to have It out with her, not put myself in intensive care!

It’s no wonder that I had (and often still have) a hideous opinion of myself.  I didn’t just grow up how useless and stupid I was but that I should be on my knees begging forgiveness for even breathing.  Being beaten every day and abandoned to fend for myself really sealed the deal on how worthless I really am.  After all, if nobody is willing to lift a finger to protect me, I must really not be worth the time and trouble at all. 

I have always been angry with my sister over her treatment of me.  She has never treated me like a sister, much as I would have adored that.  I sought her approval so many times and it was just never there, nor was it ever going to be.  And I was retarded enough to actually believe that it was all MY fault.  When my family set out to do a number on me, they pull out all the stops. 

And for some reason I can’t even begin to fathom, Mum can’t understand why I’m not ringing her every day and having on every syllable that drips from her lips.  That was the whole idea right from the start.  To ensure I received no approval of any kind from anyone else and have to cling to her in desperation.  If I had done that, she could have demanded I do just about anything and I would have complied just to receive any kind of acceptance, however small it might be.

So, here I find myself, furious with her for not only the mind games she still enjoys playing, but also for the protection he never gave me because she put her own vile, nasty needs first. 

Having been sacrificed time and again on the altar of her insatiable need for control and power over others, I just don’t know how I’m going to forgive this one nor if she even deserves to be forgiven at all.  Nothing has changed.  There is no remorse.  She still feels perfectly vindicated by every action she’s taken and in fact, feels they were correct and valid.  That really blows my mind six ways from Sunday.

Yes, I can be furious with Julia for her treatment of me and that’s justified, but then I have to take into account that she was in that house too and was angry at the way she felt dad dismissed her entirely.  Beating up on me was her way of venting the rage she didn’t yet have a vocabulary to articulate. 

My brother was furious too at being expected to parent his two younger sisters and never receive a single word of thanks or acknowledgement.  When he started having problems with his work in school, nobody stepped up to help him.  He just copped flak for doing badly and a bunch of massively high expectations that he couldn’t possibly meet.

The bottom line is that we were all abandoned emotionally and physically.  We were all angry and were left alone with it to try to manage it ourselves.  In fact, I feel like I’m STILL dealing with it all these years later.  I have no idea how to bring resolution to this.

I’m still wary of people getting too close to me because in my experience, that ends in massive pain every time.  It’s damn near impossible for me to trust people because the people I was supposed to trust the most in the whole world, cold bloodedly stabbed me in the back time and time again.  Why should strangers be any different?

I don’t know where this one ends.  I just know I’m raging and it hurts like hell.

Appropriation

It’s no secret that my mother and I have a very difficult relationship.  In fact, she has a difficult relationship with all of her children and I use the term ‘difficult’ as the understatement of the century.

She has spent my entire life making sure that I know, in no uncertain terms, that I’m stupid, worthless, never going to be anyone or anything, and have zero ability in any field.  In her eyes, I was (and still am) a complete waste of space with only one redeeming feature; I made an excellent target for her daily abuse.

Currently, we have no contact with her.  My brother despises her and cut ties with her decades ago.  My sister, who was her favourite, went and died in 2000.  That really messed up the game plan because my sister was the one my mother was counting on to look after her in her declining years.  Oops!  Too bad she got cancer and kicked the bucket then. 

My situation with her is really no better.  She made me her executrix and medical power of attorney because there was nobody else she could even remotely trust to carry out her wishes.  Anyone else (my brother or my cousins) would simply do what’s easiest for them and to hell with what she would like.  She figures I’m still able to be manipulated and guilted into making sure her wishes, both living and resting, are carried out.  But, I digress.

She’s never made any secret of the fact that I have no brains or skills.  At least, that’s the party line she’s worked hard to instill and she really wants me to believe it hook, line and sinker.  The ‘why’ is obvious.  Control.

The more she denies me any kind of approval, technically, the more I should chase her for it.  The more I chase, the more control she has over me to manipulate me into doing whatever she wants.  She’s a narcissist and a deeply sick one at that.  So, I spent the first 30+ years of my life desperately hungry for a kind word from her regarding ANYTHING.  I never got it.  Then I got wise.

She has no boundaries and there is no line she won’t cross in order to put herself first and keep control over others.  Everything has to be all about HER, always.

When I was in my late teens, I joined a drama group.  I’ve always loved acting and I’ve never had any kind of stage fright.  Not even once.  When I did a performance with the group one year, she took me aside afterwards and after paying pathetically shallow praise to the effect that I’d been “good” (not great or anything, just good, as in mediocre at best), she then proceeded to pick my performance to pieces.  By the time she was done, I felt like I should have crawled into a hole and never inflicted my presence on another human being ever.

She is somewhat an expert with shredding people using her carping criticism and since I’d been dealing with it from the cradle, I never had a chance to build any kind of self-esteem.  Thus, when she attacked, I was already 90% eviscerated. 

In this case, she knew how much I adored being on stage and she just HAD to make sure I was completely destroyed for such sins as standing with my feet pointed inwards during one scene instead of them being straight.  Mea culpa!  Mea culpa!  Listening to her, you’d think I’d committed a cardinal sin against humanity itself.  She just couldn’t let me have the win and feel good about it.  That was her bog-standard approach to most things.

Then there was her appropriation where she took ALL the credit for anything her children did that might be deemed successful.

My brother went to university and got his degree majoring in Political Science.  Then we went on to join the department which was often consulted by news media when they needed to make sense off situations such as the White House in Russia being shelled back in 1993. 

She always felt herself to be of superior intellect and whenever my brother came to visit, she’d bail him up and force a political debate on him just so she could win the argument.  He was the only one of us she felt was anywhere near her equal.

I had no intelligence whatsoever and when they had their discussions, she would literally turn her back on me if I ventured an opinion, and talk only to him.

So, I grew up believing I had no skill whatsoever and would always be nothing.  In fact, I wandered around absolutely certain I should be on my knees every day begging forgiveness from everyone I met just for daring to breath air.  Then, 2000 rolled around.

My sister was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer with a shockingly high mortality rate.  She was gone within a year.

Having died at home, I sat with her the morning she died, and I did some writing. I’ve always loved writing.  It’s the only subject at school that I could pass.  I flunked everything else without exception.  Perversely, it was the only success I could ever claim; to fully live down to those low expectations heaped upon me.

She lay there on her bed and I spent the time writing my thoughts and churning out two poems.  I thought I might read one at the funeral although, I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to speak.   You know, the privilege of speaking at a funeral is only for the really special people in our family.  The ones with intelligence.  The ones who were educated.  That didn’t include me and I knew it

When we got to the church the following Monday, I had a quick word with the priest to let him know that I’d like to speak after my brother was done.  Of course, I had to then tackle the bitch and beg permission to do so.  I told the priest first because it’s just easier to get what I want if someone else already knows and she doesn’t want to have to explain her denial to them.  Stacking the deck in my favour hasn’t just need necessary over the years.  It’s been survival.

When I told her I wanted to read a poem I’d written, she immediately demanded to see it.  She read it over and declared that I would be allowed to read it.  Then she went on to tell me that it was good, short lines, punchy, and that I obviously got that talent from her. 

Actually, no, I didn’t.  She never supported my language skills in any form at all.  When I entered primary school, I could read 5 years ahead of my age group because my brother had been an insatiable reader and would often come to me with this or that paperback telling me he thought I’d enjoy it.  So, I read stories with words and concepts way above my age which really opened the world for me, particularly in terms of using words as a means of complex expression.

However, she simply couldn’t let me have the credit for my work.  She had to immediately claim it as only possible because I carry HER genes.  And having reframed the situation, she went on to tell everyone at the wake that my poem was due to HER and in no way attributable to me. 

She literally publicly appropriated my ability to write which infuriated me to no end.  And because it’s not good manners to start a huge fight at a funeral, there was nothing I could do about it.  The party line was that if my work had been liked by others, then the more people she told, the more that storyline became ‘fact’.  I wasn’t even allowed to have my own words about the death of my sister at her funeral, for gods’ sake.  I had to be ALL about the narcissist among us.

It’s her pattern.  Either eviscerate me for whatever modicum of skill I display or take full credit for it and put me in a position of being shamed into agreeing with her.  Either way, she wins.  It’s all about control.

When she takes credit, I’m supposed to feel good that my need for her approval has finally been met, as long as I want to surrender the accolades so SHE is praised for something she didn’t do.  Seriously, that makes for one hellishly scrambled and sick dynamic to have to wrap your head around, and I should know. 

It’s taken most of my life to realize that I CAN write, I CAN act, I CAN take decent photographs, I am excellent at counted thread hand embroidery (and I don’t mean pithy cross stitch), and that’s on me – not her, and I don’t have to share the spotlight with anyone.

When people like a photo I’ve taken, I can accept the credit for my creativity and skill with the medium.  Since she was never a photographer of any kind, I’m on safe ground of having it to myself.  In that case, rather than praise me, she opts to shred with her ready criticism.  Her stance is clear:  if she can’t appropriate it, she’ll destroy it.

I no longer have all that much contact with her anymore but I still have to work hard to identify when I’ve done something well and claim it as my own.  It’s a long, arduous, uphill battle, but it’s a fight I’m willing to match because I didn’t deserve to spend decades being run down at every turn and I DO deserve to embrace my talents and feel good about them.

I think this might be a fight a terrifying number of people have forced upon them.  It’s certainly worth the work to fight back.  Nobody has the right to make you feel bad just so they can feel good, powerful and in control.  Nobody’s soul is worth the price to be paid so someone else can feed off them emotionally.

It’s not bragging and boasting to say you cook well.  It’s not denigrating others to display that you have an ability to do something well.  You not selfish to want to receive the praise for your work and not stand back and let someone else mug you for it.

Is it any wonder that I have so little communication with her these days?  And if you ask her, she’ll do a whole clueless victim act to the effect that she has no idea what she could have possibly done to be treated this way. 

That’s another lesson I learned from her; victimhood sells.  You can make out like a bandit trading on being a poor little old woman who nobody ever helps and who is always left to suffer. 

Lately, I seem to have forgotten how many things I do well.  I’m the first one to put my hand up and dole out compliments.  I’m the last to see my own skills and acknowledge them.  It takes work and I really need to make more of an effort to keep it in mind. 

If I don’t, she wins and frankly, she’s already won far too much and too often at my expense.  It’s past time to shut down that buffet and start feeding myself instead of a cruel narcissist with an insatiable appetite for attention. 

Hard work but necessary, and since I’m fighting for my soul and self-esteem, I really need to keep in mind that I’m worth it.  This is one thing she’s NOT going to be allowed to take credit for or shred beyond recognition.  I just won’t allow it.

Double Down

I heard someone relating a story about someone taking massive advantage  and it reminded me of something that happened to me back in late 2000 / early 2001 and it perfectly illustrates the difference between accepting a kind offer and arrogantly taking advantage.

I was working at a call center answering passport / visa queries for the British High Commission and US Consulates.  One of the guys at the center had come across from New Zealand and was still trying to get himself sorted out.  We’d become good friends and naturally he discussed the issues he was having finding an apartment.  

Chief among them was that he didn’t have a car so by the time he made to the real estate agent’s office to get the keys for one place, took more public transport to the actual place, and made it back to the office to return the keys, he would really only be able to look at one apartment in a weekend.  I’d done the whole public transport thing myself for many years so I totally got it and sympathized. 

He said there was an apartment he wanted to look at on the upcoming weekend and I offered to help drive him which he gladly accepted.  I didn’t ask him to pay for the petrol I’d be using because where I come from, when you put yourself so far out of your way to assist a friend, they just naturally offer you $20 or so towards the fuel as a thank you and a courtesy.  I couldn’t imagine anyone being so rude as to NOT do that. 

So, on that Saturday, I picked him up at his current apartment (about 40 mins drive way) and drove him to the agent to get the key.  That was where we encountered the first real slap in the face.

We were in th office with the receptionist about to hand us the keys and she said there was a $50 deposit payable which we would get back when we returned the keys.  It was only THEN that he announced some lame excuse about not having had time to get to the bank so he didn’t have cash on him for the key deposit. 

His tone and attitude reeked of expectation that I would be able to provide the money for him.  With my back against th wall and because I despise confrontation, I coughed up the money for him.  Even though I knew I’d be getting it back, I was furious at being put on the spot like that and his casual manner of going about it.  He didn’t offer any apologies, he just told me they needed $50 and oh, gee, can you pay it?   

Then he totally doubled down.

After viewing the list of properties, the agent had up for rent, he told the agent that he’d like the keys to three of those as well.  He didn’t discuss it with me and I hadn’t agreed to help him look at more than one property.  He just announced to the agent (ignoring me entirely) that he wanted the keys with full expectation that I’d not only drive him to all these places, but pay for the key deposits as well!  At $50 a key,  it was an unforgivable imposition.

After viewing the properties (which he didn’t like), we returned to the office and returned the keys.  I quickly put my hand out to accept the returned money because I saw him starting to put HIS hand out to take and frankly, it wasn’t his money at all!  Damned if I was going to let him get his hands on it for even 10 seconds.

Then, out of the blue, he announced there was ANOTHER property he wanted to see.  He didn’t ASK if I had the time to drive him there or even if I was willing to do so at all.  He just announced that he wanted to see it and told me the address of the agent; as if I were his personal taxi for the entire day.  Too bad if I had something else on for the afternoon and needed to go, huh?

Once we got done looking at about 7 properties, I drove him home.  I was ropeable.  The real kicker was that apart from having to provide $50 a pop (sometimes up to $200 in cash at once) without any warning, he also didn’t offer to pay even one cent towards petrol.  I spent the day ferrying him around for absolutely zero in compensation.

I think he actually expected that we’d stop somewhere for lunch while we were at it.  I made sure that didn’t happen because I was certain that if I’d mentioned being hungry, I’d have ended up paying for both our lunches on top of everything else.  He not only seemed to think I was his personal chauffeur but also, an ATM.

We worked in a very small office so I couldn’t really bring it up during work hours without the whole place becoming involved and having it cause a massive upset, so I had to suck it up.  He knew that and he counted on it to get away with the blatant audacity and abuse.  So, I sat at my desk which was directly opposite and facing his, did my job, and seethed all week.

Towards Thursday, he mentioned other apartments he was thinking of viewing and he eyed me meaningfully, no doubt expecting me to offer to be his free chauffeur again.  I ignored the broad hints which were all delivered as if it was a done deal and of COURSE I would be driving him again.  Why wouldn’t I?

But he needed to lock the arrangement in and I’d not actually agreed yet.  When he finally outright asked me to drive him, I apologized and said I had another engagement that weekend.  Hiss face clouded over and he was deeply unhappy with my refusal to assist.  Well, too bad.  I was deeply unhappy that he’d not only badly taken advantage of me but that he actually thought it would be fine and dandy to do so again!

I never drove him anywhere again and if it meant he could only view one property a weekend, so be it. 

I also had a strong feeling that once he found a place, he would have expected (not asked) that I would help him move and either end up paying the removalist (because again, he would have been unable to get to a bank and they must be paid on the day) and/or been ferrying his property back and forth in my car and carting it around for him.  And he absolutely would have expected it all for free because I was a friend.

I have no idea WHERE he was raised but clearly, he was raised by manipulative trash. This is NOT how we treat friends where I come from. 

There is a vast difference between accepting an offer made to you because you’re in need and someone is trying to help; and piling on expectation after expectation without discussion simply because you think you CAN.  The whole thing was just SO abusive.

Expecting me to produce $50 notes on demand was infuriating enough.  I’m not a bloody bank and I was fairly broke myself.  It’s not like I was swimming in loot.  But he could have looked apologetic when he told me (he didn’t ask, he TOLD) and he also could (and should) have told me in the car, instead of waiting until we were in front of a third person and I was pretty much humiliated and shamed into producing money for him of I’d be a really nasty person for refusing.  He certainly never apologized to me for it during or afterwards.  He just demanded more sets of keys which he expected me to fund for him.

Not telling me that he fully intended to look at as many properties as he could and thus, expected me to ferry him to all was unforgivably rude, especially since he then expected me to drive him home after and didn’t intend to slip me anything towards the money I was shelling out in petrol.

Icing that cake with a clear expectation (an implied obligation) that I would repeat the performance the following weekend (and however many more were required) was absolutely infuriating and just plain manipulative.

Just because you CAN doesn’t mean you SHOULD, and taking gross advantage of someone’s kindness is massively abusive and nasty.  In fact, it was bullying..

His attitude both on that Saturday and during the following working week, made it very clear that he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong and in fact, was going to continue imposing one me without compunction of any kind.  He constantly cheerfully talked about it like it was all fine and dandy and there wasn’t anything wrong at all.  Yeah?  Wanna BET?

Knowing that I should have put my foot down immediately when he demanded I pay the deposits for him, resulted in my being exceptionally angry with myself. 

Knowing that I let him further take advantage to view multiple properties without discussing it with me, let alone not offering to pay so much as one red cent towards the petrol just had me boiling over entirely. 

And because I’d not stood my ground and spoken up, I was stuck sucking it up in silence.  As furious as I was with him, I was even more furious with myself for allowing myself to be maneuvered into that situation in the first place.

It’s what I got for being a Polly Pleaser and trying to do the right thing so people would think I was a nice person and not hate me.  I learned.  By God, I learned.  The hard way.  These days, never again. 

Once so badly taken advantage of with some kind of bullshit implied obligation, I’ve learned the lesson and refused to allow that to happen ever again.  I found his entitlement to be truly shocking.  It would never have occurred to me to treat anyone like that under any circumstances, so I never saw it coming until I was in the middle of it when he did it to me.

I’m guessing that experience is why I’m so intolerant of the many arrogant, entitled little bastards who have tried to manipulate me into doing their bidding since.

As near as I can figure, the key attribute these users look for seems to be social politeness and a desire to keep the peace.  Thus, when they impose, their intended victim is more likely to quietly agree rather than speak up and call them out on it. 

So, you can well imagine what a banshee I can be when I feel myself being manipulated like that these days.  I have NO issues refusing their demands and when they start with the cajoling.   It always looks the same.  Oh go on, be a sport.  I need help and there’s nobody else.  Strong implication that I’m some kind of mean, vile bitch for refusing to give in.

Even further implication that I’m somehow to blame for the entire situation they’re in.  Even stronger implication still that I’m somehow obligated and expected to help them and how dare I refuse. 

Some have even gone so far as to imply that I had agreed to help and was now changing my tune because I’m a vile, nasty bitch and deliberately trying to stick it to them.

I grew up with a narcissistic and highly manipulative mother.  And I survived her.  I’ve been guilt tripped by the best in the business.  I cannot be guilt tripped into feeling bad about standing my ground. I won’t spend one minute agonizing over how someone tried to take advantage and I didn’t let them.

Of course, I’m not talking about people who are genuinely in need.  I’m the first to offer to help people who are in a pinch.  But, if they try to rudely pile on demand after demand without my consent, it’s not going to end well.  Trust me.  I won’t just show them the door, I’ll eviscerate them entirely before kicking them through it.

There are ways to treat friends and there is crossing the line.  By the time you’re an adult, you’re supposed to have figured out the basic rules of polite social engagement.  If you still don’t know which is which, and care even less, you deserve everything you get.

 When you turn up and dictate to someone what they WILL be doing with an air of complete expectation as though they are obligate, have no say, and it’s all a done deal because YOU say so, THAT’s abuse makes you a vile, low life, scum sucking pig.  And no amount of fast talking or diminishing the situation so it appears to be inconsequential and nothing is going to change the reality or mean nobody has noticed. 

Bottom line, it doesn’t matter if you take a tissue or the crown jewels.  When you take without asking, it’s theft.  When you place demands on someone without asking their consent, it’s abuse and manipulation.  Nothing will ever change that no matter how anyone tries to talk their way around it in the hope that nobody will notice and everyone will just let it slide. 

People notice and they never forget.  If you WANT people to think you’re the scum of the Earth, have at it, by all means, but you don’t get to whine or bitch about it later.  A bad reputation you have honestly earned will not go away and you’re required to suck it up.  If you don’t want the foul reputation, behave better.

The only thing worse than taking advantage of an acquaintance, is taking advantage of someone who has offered you friendship. 

I’m not so naïve these days and I had that day to do over, I would have taken that guy, dumped him back on this doorstep and driven off tossing a cheerful, see you Monday, over my shoulder as he ate my dust.  And I wouldn’t have given him or his needs another thought.

I believe he did find an apartment after some weeks of looking at places in a piecemeal fashion.  He never mentioned it at work again, at least not in front of me.  I left there a few months later a much wiser woman and I swore, never again. Lesson well learned.

Speshul

I’ve finally had a win with these entitled bastards living in Unit 2.  For over a year, they’ve put their recycle bin down the with the general waste bins or just next to the entry to driveway.  That’s NOT where it’s supposed to be.  

He’s even put his recycling all the way down the end of the Court meaning the workers have to walk to the other end of the street just to collect his one recycling because and then walk it all the way back there after because he’s too friggin lazy to fit in with everyone else and besides, everyone else should change what their doing just to accommodate HIM.  I’ve been watching him do this for over a year and honestly, this kind of entitlement just badly gets on my wick.

To give you some idea of his attitude, this is the same prick who bailed me up when I got home (and had to park on the street because there was no room in the car pen)  When I got the car door open, he stood in front of is making it impossible for me to exit the car while he aggressively tried to bully me by trapping me in and screaming at me, demanding that I move my rental car out of the car pen because HE wanted to park HIS car in that spot.  There is no assigned parking in the pen and it’s supposed to be fair usage.  He only moves his car very rarely meaning he takes up a space in there for his exclusive use and to hell with the rest of us pretty much 24 hours a day, 7 days of the week.  So much for fair usage.. 

When I refused to move the rental to the street, he sneaked out after the bins were emptied then next morning and surrounded my car with them so I couldn’t drive out.  As I said, I had been parked on the street and most of the bins were now literally in the middle of the road where they’d block every other resident. 

I only had to move one bin to back out as it happens, so I moved that one, ignored the rest I just left them all there to be the subject of justified complaint by others.  I didn’t create the infuriating obstacle and I certainly wasn’t going to fix it.  He was just having a temper tantrum because he couldn’t get his own way.

He also tampered with one of my car tires which resulted in it blowing while I was doing 100kph on the Tullamarine which could have gotten myself (or others) killed.  But he felt entitled because he wanted payback.  When I say this guy is a prick, I mean it.

I don’t suppose I can be badly blamed for responding to his vile arrogance with the same kind of attitude.  As far as he could see, his put his bin out, it wasn’t emptied and when he came to collect it, it was exactly where he’d left it.  That means to the best of his knowledge, the garbos refused to empty it and it’s nothing to do with me.  So, I’m not on the hook.  But, I digress.

The recycle and green waste trucks only come halfway down the street and thus, we all put our bins out together about 10 seconds up from our main driveway.  Except Mr Entitled Bastard in Unit 2 who puts his wherever he damn well likes because HE is special and HE thinks rules that apply to the rest of us don’t apply to HIM.  He’s been here long enough.  He KNOWS where they’re supposed to be.  He just doesn’t give a toss because it’s HIM and in his mind, he’s exempt – or not as the case may be. 

We have two elderly ladies living across the street from our units.  Both of them have to walk their bins across the street to be with ours or they won’t be emptied.  General waste they can put outside their houses and they, get emptied.  Recycling and green waste?  Put it with the rest or suck it up when it’s still there the next day.  Even though the rest of our bins are directly opposite one of those houses; it’s not good enough.  She has to walk her bin across the road to be with ours or suffer the consequences.

Hell!  I’m on a friggin CANE and I have to walk my bin to the others or it won’t be emptied.  Even if I’ve got tears rolling down my cheeks because it hurts so bad, I have to suck it up.  There are no special concessions made for the disabled. 

And here comes this guy thinking he’s the exception because he’s so SPESHUL and obviously massively superior the rest of us.  Rules that apply to plebes like us, will never apply to HIM!  And why should they?

I’m sure you can see where I might find that attitude particularly offensive and badly in need of adjustment.  So, two weeks ago, I decided it was well past time to make a point.

As usual, he put his bin right next to the driveway instead of putting it with all the others.  And of course, he expected it to be emptied even though it was NOT in the right place.  Walking the bin literally 10 seconds further up the road is apparently utterly beyond his young, fully fit and able-bodied person and far too much effort for him to be asked to make.

I was up all night with pain, so I didn’t put my bins out until about 2am.  Plenty of time to ensure that nobody else had late bins to add to those already out on the nature strip.  No late bins to add, no chance of anyone seeing where I’d put his bin and moving back out as a courtesy.

I put my bin with the others and then brought HIS in off the nature strip and stashed it in the bin pen behind the mailboxes down front.  Nothing in the bin pen is emptied.  If you want it emptied, put it on the kerb.  Part one successfully executed.

Hours later, I heard the recycling truck come and go.  Time for part two, so I popped out and put his bin back right where he’d originally left it.  Sadly, it was nearly overflowing and did NOT get emptied that week.

Recycling is collected every second week with green waste being collected on alternating weeks.  This meant that he’s had to wait 2 weeks to have a hope of getting it emptied again.  If he can fill his bin to overflowing in just 2 weeks (and they’re BIG bins) then he’s going to have recycling backing up all over the place because there was absolutely no more room at that inn.

I didn’t hear any reaction about this during the last fortnight but I’m sure there was a lot of swearing going on.

After that little lesson and 14 days in which to dwell on it, I was interested to see what would unfold this morning after the recycling bins were due again.  I didn’t put mine out because it was only half full so this morning was the first chance for me get a look at how things had unfolded.

After the truck had gone, I poked my nose out to see where he’d left his recycling bin and whether it had been emptied or not.

Gleefully, he had put his recycling bin right where it SHOULD be; with all the others.  And yes, it got emptied.  He’ll be delighted.

Whether the lesson has sunk in or not remains to be seen.  He may just say that now he’s back to having the entire bin he can fill, that he’ll just shove it out wherever he wants again.  And if he does, same game applies and will continue to apply until he learns the lesson. 

While normally, I’d take a live and let live attitude, his arrogance and superior entitlement have bothered me for long enough.  I simply cannot let it slide anymore.  If he wants to get up early and go stand out there policing his bin, great!  Have at it.  Or… he can walk his bin 10 seconds further up the road and fall into line with the rest of us.  The choice is his.

I’m going to watch this one with interest though, and for the time being, pat myself on the back for successfully having gotten the message across at least just this once.

Shades

When I was growing up, both my sister and I both coveted a beautiful necklace belonging to my mother.  It was a delicate gold heart with a pearl drop in the middle.  We had both asked for it to be left to us many times in her will.

Over the course of time, it became clear that the necklace would be left to my older sister who was her favourite among her 3 children.  I was pissed and felt quite rejected knowing I was going to be passed over for something so lovely. 

While I look back now and think it was all quite silly, back then, I was a teen full of hormones in an ever-changing body.  If you remember your teenage years, I needn’t waste time explaining more.  And if you’re NOT yet through your teenage years, just wait, it’s all coming for you.

Then my sister turned 18 and was given a lovely necklace with matching earrings in her birthstone – garnet.  When I approached my 18^th, I decided to ask for my birthstone – diamond.

My mother might just have jumped on that as godsend and the perfect way to handle the pearl necklace dispute.  On my 18^th I opened a small jewelry box and found a stunning silver heart shaped necklace with a single drop stone – in diamond.  I fell in love immediately.  My mother probably patted herself on the back for solving that one so successfully.

In fact, the truth was quite different.  Although the necklace is simple, classic, and timelessly elegant, it is also something that fitted me perfectly.  Let me explain.

When I was about 9, my grandmother visited and brought with her a pair of sterling silver bangles.  One was slightly larger than the other.  They had been intended for both my sister and I to have one each. 

They wouldn’t give them to us sooner in case we accidentally lost them.  That worried my grandma as they were something of a family heirloom.  My grandma had worn them, as had my mother and now thew were coming to us.  They weren’t anything spectacular mind you, but they had strong sentimental value.

Unfortunately, my sister’s wrist bone had already become too big and the bangle wouldn’t fit over it, so they both went to me.  I wore them until I was about 22 and finally had to ask Dad to cut them off because they were beginning to hurt when they banged against my wrist bone.  However, I digress. 

I’d been given other pieces of jewelry over that decade, some in silver, most in gold.  One year, I was given a bright gold circle with a little bull inside because I’m a Taurean.  I never wore it.  In fact, I stopped wearing anything gold.  I still HAVE the little gold bull but now it’s tucked away as a keepsake of birthdays past.

From about 15, I began to notice that whenever I wore gold jewelry or wore anything in a shade of yellow, people would stop me and ask if I were okay because I looked a bit unwell.  Yellow is simply not a color I can wear. 

I have my Dad’s good, classic English rose skin which works best with silver.  However, if I’m going somewhere and want to duck out early, I’ll put on the gold to fool the eye.  And it really is just an optical illusion.  Something about yellow against my skin produces that effect. 

So, by the time my 18^th rolled around, I was squarely in the land of silver jewelry only.  Even though I still love how beautiful Mum’s pearl heart necklace is, I’ve long since given up wanting it.  Where on Earth could I wear it without it detracting from whatever I was wearing for the evening?  If I have to choose, I would always opt for my own silver heart necklace because I know it looks good on me. 

So, the pearl necklace was left to my sister who, unfortunately, died in 2000.  It has now been left to her daughter who hasn’t seen it and will never love it as we did. 

As the executrix of my mother’s will (when she finally dies), it’ll be up to me to ensure it is passed on.  I won’t regret it for a minute.  She has her mother’s skin coloring which is a tad more yellow than mine and not at all English rose.  It’ll suit her nicely.

I, on the other hand, shall revel in my own silver heart which looks great on me and would entirely wrong on my niece.  You have to love how things turn out.

Aiming

Back in the 90s, I had a dentist in Ringwood.  She had taken over the practice when the former dentist there retired.  It felt natural to just go to the same place with the new dentist rather than shop around for another.

This was back in the days when I was petrified of dentists and would literally have a meltdown just walking in the door.  They used to give me valium and sit me in the waiting room until it took effect because nobody could get near me otherwise. 

This dentist promised “gentle dental care”.  She made a deal with you.  You wouldn’t proceed if you were in pain so she gave pain killers up front to numb the area of the mouth she’d be working on.  If you were in pain at any time, you could raise your hand and she’d stop, give more pain meds and not proceed until they took effect.  You would her noise and feel pressure and vibration, but not pain.  That’s my kind of approach.

I ended up having to fin another dentist.  It was necessity.  She was petite and lovely but she was also Chinese and must have come from a loud, noisy family because she couldn’t utter a word unless she was virtually shouting it.   And I mean, shouting.  She had no clue how to speak at a level I would deem conversational and her voice was absolutely shrill.

I’d be in the chair and she’d be right next to me and I swear they could hear her in the street.  She was so loud that my ears physically hurt after every visit.  I just couldn’t handle it.  These days, I’m far more sensitive to loud noise but even back then, I’d shrink from people who decided the entire planet needed to hear their every word.  Worse if they did it at a pitch that could shatter glass.

It wasn’t easy to find another dentist because if the volume was right, I’d be in pain during the procedure.  And believe me, I was still hysterical just entering the building so I was their worst idea of a patient.

That’s one of the reasons I got interested in hypnotherapy and why I did my qualification in it.  I wanted to be able to manage my anxiety in an effective way.  And it worked.

I found a dentist that used hypnotherapy to help his patients and while he talked me under, I did a bit of self hypnotherapy on top to change any pain or anxiety into bubbles off joy.  Not giggles, because that would have been a bit counter productive during a procedure, but happiness and light heartedness.  It worked. I was not only find for that visit but ever since.

These days I turn up at the dentist without the slightest qualm and no drugs are involved.  I happily jump into the chair, put on my iPod and sunglasses (that light they use is too bright for me) and I tell him to tap me on the wrist if he needs to talk to me.  He does his thing and I tune out. 

I’ve not shed so much as one tear since I did that hypnotherapy on myself.  Not one.  Considering I used to be crying in the car on the way there, that’s some kind of miracle.  He tells me I’m one of his easiest patients to work with.  I’d believe it.

For me, he’s one of the easiest I’ve ever been to.  He’s not shill and my ears don’t ache for the rest of the day afterwards.

I’d really like to explore my hypno as a means of pain management, alas, I find myself blocked because I need to be in a trance state to do it and that’s a little hard to maintain when the pain bites in across the top of it.  I’ve not yet thought of a viable solution just yet but I will.

Knowing how one inner session changed my whole outlook and handling of dentistry, it’s entirely possible I could enjoy similar success with pain.  I’d really be onto something if I could pull it off.

People go to hypnotherapists for multiple visits thinking it takes repetition to instill a set of behaviors in order to bring about change.  It doesn’t.  I did it for myself in under 3 minutes and that was over 20 years ago.  I’ve never needed a refresher.  However, it does depend on the patient and the subject and the amount of success that can be achieved is entirely up to the susceptibility of the individual.

For example, my father tried hypnotherapy when he found out he had emphysema and was dying.  Yes, I know.  By then, quitting his 4 pack a day chain smoking wouldn’t have reversed anything but it might have bought him more time.  They couldn’t put him into trance.  He was uncomfortable being out of control and fought the induction every step of the way.  Resistant patient does not make for great outcomes. 

However, I have bona fide success treating myself and others so there has to be a way I can pull this off.  It’s simply a question of finding it.  While hypnotherapy will never make pain go away, and I’m not suggesting that it would, it may certainly make it more bearable for the sufferer and that’s a goal worth aiming for.