All posts by Princess Sparkle

DOGS IN SUITS – Dumb Poetry

Gunnas-Masters

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Once upon a time in Victoria an old man decided he had no need for his clothes.  He started a nudist colony in his home so he put his old clothes in a pile on his front verandah and left them out for others to take.

That night, a few of the neighbourhood dogs came sniffing around the house, drawn to the stench of the old clothes.

One of the leading hounds, who felt the cold, decided it would be better if he wore the clothes rather than steal them, so he carefully worked out a way to put on the old suit and asked the other dogs to help dress him. Finally, just before daybreak, he was dressed in a shirt, tie and suit.

Everyday the dogs marvelled at the sight of their leader dressed like a human.  Soon, word got around the humans of the neighbourhood that one of the dogs wore clothes.  The dogs decided to move to the local dump, where they could hide, but people gathered around, first by foot, then as the dog’s fame grew, they drove by and children stared and pointed at the clothes dog.

Meanwhile, the old man tired of being a nudist. He was cold and alone.  Nobody joined his colony so he went looking for his clothes. He looked high and low but was perplexed.  Where were they?

One day, while walking around the neighbourhood, he encountered the local Brothel Madam, who noticed he was completely naked, so invited him up for free sex.  It was on the house because she was so impressed by his audacity.  They had sex, but because she had such a shit box, he ran away.

Because of that, he was more determined to find his clothes.  He continued walking and noticed the crowds outside the dump and saw his clothes on a dog.

The man yelled “that’s mine, you varmit” and the troupe of dogs snarled and bared their fangs at him, eyeing off his naked skin.

He had to think quickly and yelled “hey dogs, how would you like to make some money?” The dogs wagged their tails.  He found an old chair, some gumboots and a hat.  He persuaded the dogs to come back to his house.

And because of that, he set the leading dog on the chair fully clothed and charged the crowd admission to come to his yard see the amazing clothed dog.

Soon he made enough money to buy himself some clothes and employed the Brothel Madame as his assistant.  He fed all of the dogs very well and they lived a great life, until one day, the old man died of pneumonia and syphillis, no doubt caught when he was nude and after his encounter with the Madame and her shit box.

The dogs mourned the old man and removed all the clothes from the leader.  They ran down the road, ready to start new adventures.

They say if you ever drive around any Victorian country town at night, look out for the ghosts of an old naked man, a brothel Madame and several dogs, one of whom is completely clothed, sitting on a chair and staring at you.

 

Go Back

Danger Will Robinson……..we have insurance! – Sally Cant

Gunnas-Masters

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Why is that sign there?…..     It doesn’t make sense!!!

I need to take time out to think about that sign – maybe I can just sit with a cuppa and look out at the ocean to ponder the question that is bewildering. I’m not in any hurry and a cuppa always helps.

I ask the waitress to bring me a black tea – she doesn’t speak English…oh well, sign language works just fine. I’ve been here for two days, so I can manage that. She writes it down – what’s with that – why does she need to write down a simple order of black tea!!!!  I don’t really care – because all I need is that cuppa and I can work this through in my brain

This was no ordinary day……I was on holidays – and that means adventure. I always take the less travelled path. I like the adventure, not always knowing how the day will pan out. So today was another opportunity for a wonderful memory. Earlier in the morning I’d taken the local bus, as it wound around a narrow road at the top of the volcanic island.Wandering around the village with no plans in place I decided to take the cable car over the edge of the 400 metres high caldera to spend some time down at the water’s edge. This in itself was quite thrilling – only a very short ride but none-the-less a very steep descent that took my breath away.

I stare out into the wide space of this beautiful choppy ocean – people everywhere. A cacophony of sounds which make no sense to me at all! It’s another thing I love about travel, being able to detach myself from trying to take on-board what I can’t understand. It’s actually something I look forward to – being the only one who can’t understand the language and having to stay silent. All my travel is as a solo traveller and this means much of my time is spent listening without commenting. Listening with interest to the other languages but not being invested in it!  Some people nearby are chatting away loudly, some are doing what I’m doing, just looking and watching.

I think about that sign once again – We have insurance!!

It’s doing my head in. Why would they put that sign there? Does it make me feel safe or is it doing the opposite? I’m not sure I really want to know the answer to that question – but I have to, if I want to move forward.

Sally, seriously, what are you worried about? You’ve travelled the unknown path for some 16 years, what is worrying you? For some reason I have uncharacteristically questioned myself about this path I’m about to take.  Why have I stopped right here, in front of this enormous expanse of ocean, in this very public place to take stock of what I’m about to do? Why has that sign bothered me so much?

I take more than a few deep breaths whilst I take stock – Oh Sally, get your head out if it…. No, you don’t need to go to the toilet. No, you don’t need permission. No, you don’t need another cuppa. Just do it….  Ok…I get off the chair and get myself ready to go. Oops sorry, I say to myself – let’s pay the bill first before I get taken off by the police and end up in a foreign jail. With the bill paid I take a few hesitant steps towards this path, slowly, slowly, I check my breathing and I stop. I have to listen intently – to ensure I am breathing.

Oh for fucks sake – what is the problem……..   I realise I have to pass that sign again. Ok, so don’t look at it…. Just move towards that path and get this started.

I’m probably only 50 steps through a narrow blue-stone passage and I can smell this most grotesque smell…. What is that? I can feel my heart racing once again…. But I gingerly continue along this path knowing that, even though there are voices shouting in my head, I do want to experience this adventure.

I turn the corner and here is the reason for that foul smell – a Greek man clearly drawing back on a foul smelling cigar – and a bottle of something – which I can only assume is some type of alcohol. God mate! Have you not thought of having a shower before work each day. He takes one look at me and his face is congruent with what I assume my face says……lol.

We both don’t get each other, that is clear. But he hardly acknowledges that I’m standing in front of him, as his next customer. Surely business can’t be that good that he risks a customer potentially walking away. After walking closer to him I realise he’s not alone. There are three other men in close proximity that I assume are his co-workers. No-one speaks to me – they hardly acknowledge that I’m there. They speak to each other in loud bursts that to most would suggest they are arguing. But I know better. I know that’s just how they speak to each other here.

Ok, so I’m now thinking – how does this work? How much does it cost? Who do I pay? Where do I go once I’ve paid? Oh for God’s sake, someone show me what I am supposed to be doing. Then “that bloody sign” is back at the forefront of my thinking. We have insurance!!!  Is it a sign that subliminally says “Danger, Will Robinson”….. or am I just procrastinating – which is not my style – or has my wisdom taught me that this is not a good idea Sally – go back – go back right now?

No, I want to be able to say I’ve done it – I want to look back on this and say that I completed this task…. I don’t care who hears it – “I need to hear it”. I may never come back to this place. I may never have this opportunity again.

The main Greek man steps forward, and I can see that he and his ‘old Greek’ mates are talking about me! That’s not funny guys, I’m your customer! Just take my fucking money and let me have this experience!!! Why do I care what is being said by these men – my mind naturally goes to the negative, and I need to take a few moments to check in with myself and say “just shut up – let’s do this”. I have to put all of this out of my mind and concentrate on paying the right money – I’m still in travel mode and have to calculate everything in my head before handing over the correct currency. I pay the smelly, dishevelled, pot-bellied, hairy Greek man his money and he waves his hand dismissively at me in the direction of a concrete platform.  Not having any idea of why I am being directed over there, I stand with my hands out and simply say – “you want me to sit here?” He nods his head, pleased that I understood this most basic of directions.

I sit and wait …… for what seems an eternity. Thankfully there is shade because the weather is hot and I was feeling a little feint. Get the water out – and re-hydrate, I say to myself. What the fuck are they waiting for? Why isn’t anything happening?  When I am on holidays I don’t worry too much about time, I just want to enjoy the experience. So be patient. But time has stood still for the last 30 minutes – in anticipation. I’m still very anxious and excited all at the same time. I am sitting on this concrete for what seems like an eternity – and I finally realise they are waiting for more customers! Well bring them on – I say!!! I’d be happy to share this experience with someone.

I am curious as to why I’ve chosen to sit quietly waiting rather than checking in with them – but I know the answer to that – I’m actually scared at this moment in time. And that anxiety is growing with each waiting moment. Suddenly out of nowhere a couple about the same age as myself appear – and they have a similar experience to me, in that they were also dismissed – and directed to sit near me and simply wait! They didn’t speak much English or Greek – so they were not up for a lengthy conversation.

Out of no-where and with little introduction there was movement at the station!!!! The Greek men had started to move slowly towards us and all of a sudden I realised that this was about to happen. This was my last chance to bail…..did I want to…..I did – but I couldn’t.

The donkeys were starting to get restless – they could see that something was about to happen. It was evident that the men had chosen a donkey for each of us – and went about getting the donkeys in order.

This is where my heart started to race….I have two replaced hips so I need to be careful of how I move. I can’t have that conversation with non-english speaking people – so I need to manage my own safety whilst they mill around me wondering why I was so reluctant to just step up and jump onto the back of this animal who was oblivious to what was about to happen.

The couple had mounted their donkeys and were waiting for me to join them. Where are the reins? Having ridden horses since a teenager I’m quite relaxed and calm riding horses. It was then I realised there were no reins – nor was there anyone leading these animals up that incredibly steep mountain. With a yell and a few loud noises, which I seriously hope was nothing more than to set the animals off, my journey had commenced. It was at this point that I started to feel quite uncomfortable. No actually, that should probably be upgraded to petrified!!

What the fuck……how can these donkeys be expected to traverse this cobbled path up this mountain? How was I to guide my companion so we had a mutually satisfying experience? Lol …..I had no time to consider these questions, because before I knew it a sound was coming out of my mouth that was enough to scare me, the donkey, the couple in front of me and anyone in a 1klm radius……

I could see the lady in front was wearing shorts ….   Whoa that can’t be good!  Her donkey was cantering up that cobbled walkway veering extremely close to the wall which was made of very jagged stone. Within seconds she had blood running down her left leg. And she too was screaming, and panicking, not knowing what to do. I quickly recognised that I needed to put my phone away – did I really think I would be taking photos and videos the entire way up? Just getting my phone back in my bag was a task in itself. Moving my hand, even slightly, increased my blood pressure to a terrifying level immediately. But I had to get that phone back in my bag or risk losing my life….. How can this be possible, how can they offer this as an adventure, that unassuming people like myself take without realising the risk factor?

I needed to make a concerted effort to hang on, and take my foot out of the stirrups and put my left foot out to steer my donkey away from the wall.  How was it that when they got close to the wall – which had a sheer drop over the side – with nothing to stop you going straight over the side – that the donkeys seemed to actually lean towards the wall which left you seriously at risk of falling off! OMG – what the fuck!!!!

Whatever substance these crazy donkeys were on, they were on a mission – “Get to the top in the fastest way possible – whilst making sure your passenger is scared out of their wits the entire time”. I was now starting to seriously question my sanity!!!

Remember that sign? ……   I now know why I was having reservations! But it was too late.  I was on this path, whether I wanted to be or not – and I had to get to the top in one piece – or perhaps find a way to jump off without ending up in the hospital with a serious injury. Or worse!

Now these donkeys are not stupid – they realise they can’t do this in one go. It is a marathon for them – and they need to take breaks. But there is no warning when those stops will occur and they often occur when you least expect it.  What I have failed to tell you is that whilst we are going up this long winding path there are people walking down and donkeys coming back down in between all of us. There are no rules – it is chaos – and anything goes – the donkeys seem to take the path with the highest risk factor. And those donkeys coming down are running at their fastest pace – often heading straight for you. I often just closed my eyes – praying to God that the donkeys would sort it out. And they did…..

A couple of times there were traffic jams where too many donkeys amassed on a corner and they had to decide who would go first to sort this out. Take it from me – we as passengers had no say in this process. They simply worked it out between themselves…..quite impressive really, had it not been so frightening. It seemed to take forever – and each path seemed to get steeper and steeper – time stood still – but at times it was like we were running the 100m at the Olympics! Somehow, when sanity was lost to me, and I felt like I was facing my mortality I did pull my phone out and take a photo. I am not sure where I managed to get the strength and courage to take that unfocused shot as evidence, or that few seconds of video so I could capture what it sounded like, but I am grateful that I somehow lived through it.

As quickly as it had all started we turned a corner to find a mass of donkeys had come to a stop. All of them other, than our three, were riderless. Oh no, this is where we get off. My heartrate increased and I stopped breathing……there is no step – no help – and donkeys were just crashing up against each other. The couple in front were yelling at each other loudly – but they had managed to dismount and were taking stock of the damage. She had blood streaming down both legs – but their attention turned to me – and all I heard in their very broken English was “thank God we’re alive”. I was still atop of my donkey as I had no idea how to get off. With my hips I can’t swing my legs over like most people so I was going to have to slide off…….oh that can’t be good – what an understatement lol……

Another dishevelled, smelly, Greek man appeared from no-where – but to me he was my “knight in shining armour”. Or that’s what I thought – until I realised he was yelling at me to get off….. well if I could I would, I assured him. Help me I yelled at him. No response! I’m not a naturally aggressive or assertive person but I found an inner strength from somewhere. I pointed directly at him and then pointed directly beside me – ordering him to assist me to dismount. I think he got it! Before long he was beside me – and all I can remember is disappearing between donkeys and heading towards the ground – looking from one side to another realising that all I could see was a tangle of legs and a grotesque smell.

Thankfully I was now on terra firma! and pushed myself out from between the donkeys to find safety. I hugged the other couple asking if I could help the lady, but they were out of there before I could take another breath.

We walked together to the top and then melded with the crowd along the narrow path to go our own way – with those memories indelibly imbedded in our brain forever.

When you experience something like this it’s like you expect everyone around you to know what’s happened and want to talk to you about it – praise you for being so brave – or berate you for being so stupid! It was only the day after that I heard a person had died doing the same thing the week before. They had fallen off and had been trampled! But there was insurance!!!  lol

It was exciting, frightening, and crazy but I would not have missed it for the world. Would I do it again – never! Would I recommend it to you – no! But I wouldn’t want you to miss it either.

 

www.conversationsaboutdeath.com.au

www.sallycant.com.au

www.celebrantstraining.com.au

 

 

 

Go Back

Just is – R J

Gunnas-Masters

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

My brother in law once told me of his earliest memory. He remembered falling asleep in his father’s arms, laid out on his chest. He could even remember the chair his dad was sitting in and the smell of the room. Safe, secure.

I remember seeing a set of taillights winding down the road away from the caravan I was living in, I remember knowing that it was my mum in that car and that she’d gone. I remember my dad being angry and looking at me as I stood there crying, watching those lights get further and further away. I remember my dad looking at me with disdain and saying, ‘not you too’ and walking away from me. I remember the feeling of fear, the smell and taste of it. I don’t remember how old I was, I’m pretty sure I was standing there in a nappy and singlet. I don’t know what happened after that, mum obviously came back but I don’t remember that. I remember the fear, the fear of being alone and forgotten.  Funnily enough that feeling is my go to when the anxiety kicks in.

I was raped. Orally, anally, digitally. Somehow the fact that it was always his hand or mouth and not his penis made this more acceptable for people, like it wasn’t that bad. I remember it started after I got my first period, like that made me fair game somehow? I was 11, it kept happening for 5 more years. I felt more alone and forgotten than ever, I even forgot who I was and what it was to feel. I don’t think I’ve ever got that back.

I actually quite liked the idea of sex…I remember that I started masturbating from a youngish age (is there a normal age??) you can imagine this like for the idea of sex was completely fucked up once the abuse started…this like for sex has entirely informed myself blame for the abuse. Now as an adult it’s still there, permeating my erotic thoughts and turning them toxic.  Every ounce of logic and rational thought does not stand a chance against the damaging story I tell myself, the story that was told to me.

The story continues, there’s not a happy ending, nor is it plagued in despair. It’s just a story. It’s just my story.

 

 

Go Back

Read me – Alli Kett

Gunnas-Masters

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Just stay off the internet, Sparkle decries. Stay off the internet? What new kind of hell is this? Distractions in the shape of Vimeo shorts, endlessly linked Cracked articles, that person that I worked with a million years ago’s newsfeed. Absolutely, I can stay off the interwebz.
Etsy? It’s okay to check on the delivery of my hand printed movie poster on a mini easel right? Yeah, that can wait, I can totally hop off the net. Aw, crap, what about the email I got three weeks ago off a travelling mate I met in Riga. I’m sure I haven’t replied yet, I should check, really need to do that.
My favourite columnist has a new post. If it’s only one article, that’ll be fine. Reading it will help to inform my life view, furthering my self-aware education is important. It helps to remind me, to be conscious of being inclusive and intersectional. To come up with another debate point for when I meet a troll IRL. Totes valuable. Oooh, and there’s recommend similar reading, articles by the similar social commentators and journo’s. Not watching tv news or a daily paper, I feel more aware reading online. Though, are these online articles self-fulfilling prophecies, algorithms throwing up suggested reading and me, following links like Alice through the looking glass.
But, if I do stay offline, I’ll miss seeing my far away friends worlds erupt with joy and normality
twists and turn, up and down, deflect and reflect their existences. Frankie’s new hair colour or Julian’s Japanese journey unfold, travel porn and the biggest hot topic,  whether Jo caves and gets a Toothless backpack. After I post this, just five minutes online won’t hurt… Lolz, who am I kidding. It won’t just be five minutes. But hell, I’ll save time by assuming Jo gets her Toothless backpack, anyone would.

It’d be awesome if you checked out our film website, including my review of Six Rounds, a knock-out use of black and white in a small tale around the London riots
https://wemakemoviesonweekends.com/2016/07/07/east-end-film-festival-six-rounds-review/

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DESPINA – Anastasia Panayiotidis

Gunnas-Masters

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Twenty five years,

That’s what you were given

For your life.

Two dozen years in health,

From diagnosis to death,

Just over a year,

Twenty five years.

“Fuck Cancer!” you wrote

On your Face Book.

You embraced your suffering

With grace

Without complaint

Your smile ever shining,

Big bright eyes

and courage in both hands.

A cancer journey it’s called!

A journey no one chooses to embark on.

But it’s random fate for so many

Genetics?

Environment?

Unanswered questions.

Too many lives

So much pain

Too much suffering.

“Fuck cancer!”

It was cancer

That took your sweet Mother

Less than a year before.

Mother of six

Aged 47

Hope placed in a stem cell transplant

“Remission”

A green light to travel

Hallelujah!

The thrill and joy lasted only

A matter of weeks.

Your dream was to fly to Greece

With your best friend Ilyanka,

Gorgeous girls with sparkling smiles.

That’s the trip you dreamt of taking.

The Parthenon you saw from afar

Not enough energy to climb to the

Top of the Acropolis.

Goddess Athena

Could not equip you

To survive

To live

Fate took over.

“Fuck cancer!”

Taken ill after five days.

Your beloved brother by your side,

Within a week of arrival

You took your last breath.

Hippocrates Hospital

Thessaloniki was to be the sacred place

Of your reposed soul,

And still body.

Where a cousin Constantine

Who had taken the same journey

Passed away

Ten years before.

Twenty five years

That’s what you were given

Beautiful Despina

Aged twenty five.

Red tape.

Bureaucratic obstacles.

Your body flown back.

Like Snow White

In a white coffin

Wearing your black beanie

And a white shroud

Covering the wounds

Of autopsy.

A funeral and a white coffin

That was your destiny

Not a white wedding dress

Nor a wedding dance with your beau

A choir sings the Requiem

Angelic voices reaching the heavens

Songs and prayers

Your soul rose

Transcendence

To the Infinite

Twenty five years,

Just blossomed into

Womanhood,

Beaming in your beauty.

You Took it all with grace

Without complaint

Not a fuss.

You did it your way.

Only twenty five.

Theia Soula

Anastasia

Panayiotidis

A white coffin

Not a white wedding dress

A funeral

Not a wedding dance

With the love of your life

Lying in it like Snow White

With your beanie covering your head

Covering the wounds of an autopsy

Go Back

When you don’t know what to do, do anything.

COLUMNS

Not only does it take a village to raise a child, I’ve come to the conclusion that it also takes a village to raise an adult. We never stop growing up. We’re never finished. We’re all works in progress just trying to do our best and not always succeeding. We’re human. And that’s what humans do. Stuff up. And try again.

Just when you think you’ve got being an adult sorted, along comes big, fat, messy life and throws you a red herring, a poison chalice, a blessing in disguise or a total catastrophe just to keep you on your toes. Or on your knees. Or flat on your back and out for the rest of the season with a groin injury.

No matter how much we delude ourselves, life is never going to be a linear swim from pier to pub. We’re all just paddling, hoping the next island gets us somewhere closer. To where? We don’t know. We don’t know where we’re going. We just think we do. The only other options are treading water. Or sinking.

You can have your goals, your five-year plans and your illusion of security, but you can’t count on them. It gives you a target to run to but don’t be surprised if you find yourself detoured, disqualified or running past the finish line to find yourself off the map. In his book Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart, Gordon Livingston says: “Though a straight line seems to be the shortest distance between two points, life has a way of confounding geography. Often it is the detours that define us.” Ring a bell?

A few weeks back I wrote about everyday heroes. People suffering and battling loss, grief, hurt, pain, depression and addiction. I wrote about my huge admiration for these heroes who, despite everything, and with nothing but the smallest glimmer of hope, just keep going.

I received a big response to the piece both from people suffering and from others grateful to be reminded that there are people around us engulfed by pain. Some people we’re aware of, but others keep their pain private and hold it close to their broken hearts. People we work with, family we live with and strangers who sit next to us on the tram, serve us our coffee or write the words we read in the paper.

It happens to all of us, at times. We go to a dark place on a journey alone. Walking blindfolded through a maze, not knowing the way out, just fumbling through. Hoping that with each step, each turn and each dead end that we will find ourselves in a better place, a happier place.

As much as we would like to, we cannot go with the people we love on these journeys. But we can help. And the mere act of helping can touch another human being’s spirit. We are not just bones, skin, hair and blood. Most of who we are is not visible to the eye. Our thoughts. Our spirit. Our soul.

When my mother’s house burnt down, she said that it wasn’t the people who did the wrong things that upset her, it was the people who did nothing. Which taught me that when you don’t know what to do, do anything. Be assertive in your caring. But don’t stay long. And don’t expect anything. Chances are if you say to someone, “call me if you need anything”, they won’t. So just do something. Anything.

Cook them a meal and tell them to keep the container. Call them. And if you leave a message, let them know they don’t need to call back. Lend them your favourite movie and leave a stamped, self-addressed envelope so they can send it back to you. Take them to the library. Buy them some flowers. Walk their dog. Take them a pie for lunch. Organise a massage for them. Or buy them a pair of red socks. If they are stuck in bed, buy them a new set of sheets and change them if they’ll let you. Do their washing. Take their kids to the park and bring them back fed and tired at bedtime. And when in doubt, make soup.

Just let them know you’re there. Even if they’re not. You’ll be doing far more for them than you’ll ever know, and far more for yourself than you’d think possible. Be there holding the lamp and you may be the light at the end of someone’s long dark tunnel.

We’re all in this together. One moment you’re holding the lamp, the next you’ll find someone’s holding it for you. We’ll all have good times, bad times, happy times, sad times and times that we won’t remember. That is certain. The only thing we don’t know is what order they’ll come in.

 

On Depression And Magnolias

Just. Keep. Going. A Tribute To Everyday Heroes. 

*********

Gunnas Writing Masterclass. Over 4000 people since 2014 can’t be wrong. For beginners, amateurs, professionals and randoms. BEST of all no one has to share. More here.

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Just Keep Going. A tribute to everyday heroes.

COLUMNS

Let’s give a cheer to those who are the embodiment of the human spirit.

Every morning I sit on the front deck and drink my coffee, watching people propelling themselves through life. And I’m in awe of how people can keep going. What a wonder the human spirit is.

I watch office workers, jolted out of their slumber by the alarm clock, who have shovelled in their breakfast, thrown on their clothes and rush to catch the train to a job they hate. I say good morning to elderly neighbours who gingerly walk around the block trying to get their creaky bones and foggy heads working after a night of constant pain and little sleep. I wave to the woman from down the road who has lost her mother after a long fight with cancer. She is shrouded in grief, yet she gets her kids up and dressed, the lunches made and has, against all odds, got the kids to school on time again. And I cheer my mate, overwhelmed by anxiety and depression who runs, every morning. He forces himself out of bed when what he wants is to pull the doona over his head and disappear. Where’s his medal? Where are all of their medals?

No one will ever know the extent of the battles some people among us are fighting and how tough they are finding life. How they find the courage, the bravery and the blind hope to push them through the day. When everything is such an effort some people are only able to live in five-minute increments. Lurching from one coffee to the next. From one mood swing to the next. From one wave of pain to the next. These are people whose favourite part of the day is the moment before they fall asleep. Because they know they’ll have a break from their pain. These people’s boilers aren’t working and all they are operating with is the pilot light. That’s why these people are my heroes.

Winston Churchill said, “When you find yourself in hell, just keep going.”

While many of us have the luxury of spending our time discussing house prices, Mary-Kate and Ashley’s lattes being spiked with full-fat milk or “Is it art? Is it porn?” so many around us are struggling. I saw a postcard last week that reminded me of how tough some people are doing it: “Be kind — for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”

You don’t read much about pain in the newspaper. But it’s all around us. It’s all politics, sport, terror, business, celebrities, the economy and recipes. For many, gloom and doom is a welcome distraction from the lacerating pain of their broken heart, the weight of their depression or the terrifying and overwhelming pull of addiction.

We only have one life. The idea is to make the most of it. Some people have more options than others. For those with options sometimes that in itself can be the weight.

Could change lead you to a better life? And if so, then what change? If only there were mortgage brokers for life who could run your stats through a computer program and furnish us all with the best life solution. “Option five provides you with the highest level of satisfaction and the lowest level of dissatisfaction. So lose weight, sell your house, stay with your wife, become a dentist, stop eating cheese and buy a new mattress.”

Not everyone can keep going. Some people’s pain is so profound that the only place they find peace is in death. Like many I have been touched by suicide and, as difficult as it is to comprehend, deep in my heart I know my loved ones were just desperate to find peace.

Let’s help others in pain find some sweet relief. Let’s start a cheer squad for people overwhelmed by emotional pain, physical pain, exhaustion and insomnia. For parents up with babies night after night, people caring for the sick and disabled round the clock and for those whose lives have been ripped apart at the seams. Let’s cheer them on from the sidelines: “You bloody legend! You’re a hero! Just. Keep. Going.”

There’s a website called grouphug for anonymous online confessions. And amid all the pain I found this contribution: “There are two things that I have found to always be true in life, no matter what.

1. Every day the sun will rise. It is a different day with endless possibilities.

2. This too will pass. These words, engraved on an ancient Sultan’s ring, made him solemn in happy times and happy during sad times. Remember these always.”

You are amazing. You’re doing a great job. Just. Keep. Going.

_________________________

(When I wrote this in 2008 I was suffering major depression and got through using therapy, exercise and writing. I can’t over emphasise how much good WRITING this piece did me. I had been struggling for months. I woke that morning and was due to file a column. I had nothing. I thought ‘I can’t. I’ll go to the GP and get some medication. I can’t do this on my own any more’ despite the fact I’d been in therapy, exercising regularly etc for months. I got the little boys off to school made an appointment at the doctor for 11.30am and sat at my laptop and said to myself ‘Write. This has been what has saved you before. Write.’ I wrote this column, cancelled the appointment and everything started to look up. Every year I repost it. Because reading things like this helped me so much at the time. Writing saves people’s lives. I am here to serve x

Find out more about my  Gunnas Writing Masterclass and check out out Love Party

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On Depression. And magnolias

COLUMNS

In June 2014 I was in the middle of a three month depression. I think it may have been adrenal fatigue. Whatever it was it sucked the enthusiasm, the enjoyment and the energy out of me. I was a husk.

The first half of the year had been full on in the best and worst of ways.

Gunnas was going off, did Trollhunter, made Atheist Alphabet, huge happy household including a new dog Zeus, lots of stand up and conference hosting work, Pushy Women north and south, going out, people over, lots of travel then off to Europe after waving my eldest son off to Japan.

Then the wheels started to fall off. Christians suing me, new dog not working out, massive teeth dramas leading to a tooth implant, two of my sons going through the most stressful times they have to date, then my health deteriorated. Virus after virus. Infection after infection. The depression landed in May. Shifted around September.

I thought it was jetlag, burn out, early menopause then I realised it was depression. Stone cold concrete depression. Boring exhausting depression.

No amount of willpower or strength of character could shift it. I moved through a thick grey blanket of fog. Everything was like walking into a headwind.

It was relentless.

I remember sitting at my desk in the middle of winter and there would be this 20 mintue block at around 11am where I would feel the winter sun on my back in the quiet house with the boys at school and Bear at work and I felt a twinge of relief. Fleeting.

I remember late one Sunday afternoon taking the dog to the park with Bear and Charlie. We threw the Frisbee as the winter sun went down and I was feeling okay for a bit. Then Bear said ‘Time to go it’s getting dark’ and I snapped back to a face not moving and a heart not feeling before we even made it to the car. The happy didn’t stick.

I kept trying to cook lovely food, exercise, push myself, lay off myself, go out, stay home, see people, not see people.

Depression is hard. And hard on your partner when it’s long and relentless. ‘Bear, how are you coping with me like this? It’s been a long time. What do you miss?’
‘The smiles,’ he said, ‘the smiles.’
‘Me too,’ I replied.

My face just didn’t seem to move.

When I was in social situations I would be constantly thinking of a question I could ask people so they would talk for as long as possible.

I would socialise but it was so exhausting. I got none of the normal joy and happiness of seeing those I adore.

And none of the warm feeling afterwards recollecting a good time, a lovely night, a job well done. Just pushing myself, giving my all and feeling depleted afterwards. I could fake it for an hour or so. Make the face move. Nod the head. Strap on the smile.

Yes I continued to work, parent, socialise, live. I would do things and it would go all right. It would just take me 10 times the energy and I got no enjoyment out of it. No relief. I endured.

I felt so guilty. I had so much. Love, work, a home, how dare I feel depressed. What did I have to be depressed about. I understand depression. I know you can only manage it. There is no cure. Yet I was furious with myself. ‘First world problems’ I would scoff at myself ‘Just get over yourself. You’re not on Nauru. Or in a refuge camp in Syria. For fuck sake get it to together.’

Every day I would stand in the back yard and look at the bare magnolia knowing it would bloom eventually as it always did. Trusting I would too.

When I realised the cloud had lifted I was ecstatic. My happy was back. I was chatting, making plans, bossing every one about. Oh God how I had missed being happy. Hearing my laugh after so many months.

‘I forgot how much you smiled!’ said Bear.
‘Me too!’ I said racing in front of him on my bike.

If you are in that place right now I’ve been there many times and I’ll be there again. I am exercising every day and writing , socialising, enjoying my own company. I’m cooking lovely meals and enjoying my family, friends, sons, partner, work and just the sheer magic of being pain free.

Watch the magnolias. They are all coming into bloom, slowly. In their own time. You can’t rush them. And even when you can’t see their petals, their flowers and their joy, it’s all happening beneath the surface. In increments.

Just. Keep. Going.

When You Don’t Know What To Do, Do Anything.

Gunnas Writing Masterclass. Over 4000 people since 2014 can’t be wrong. For beginners, amateurs, professionals and randoms. BEST of all no one has to share. More here.

 

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Chemo Day – Sarah Ringcroft

Gunnas-Masters

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

It’s very cold here, but the warm socks, thermals, tracksuit pants and faithful green-and-white sweater help ease the ice-cream headache. The drugs don’t hurt either! Well – they do sometimes. Cycle 2 and it’s like I have Tourette’s syndrome. Jerky, misaligned, finding everything hysterical. What a laugh! I can’t eat my sandwich without it hitting my cheek before it finds my mouth. What a laugh! Why am I finding everything so damned hilarious?

I look out, through the vast expanse of glass, over the rooftops of Richmond and I’m vaguely surprised I’m in this room with the cap tightly on my head, elastic strap around my chin. Photos of my daughter and me – “thumbs up”, grinning from ear to ear – manically probably, for how can this be my life?

I look at my husband, my rock. How did he come into my life just when he was meant to? He didn’t sign up for any of this, but here he is. How blessed am I? I get up to go the toilet and I am not sure why, but I am very wobbly – still laughing. It’s all so amusing!

All this to save my hair – whoops, to save my life. Add an extra 90 minutes to everyone’s day, on my behalf. My husband sits there, supportive, rock-like, holds my hand, watches me while I doze (thanks, drugs). My daughter, doing uni work, chatting to me, taking selfies. Nurses check in, put the cap on, tighten the straps, stick me with needles after a warm compress has been applied to my left hand. Always the left – have to look after my right arm. The right side – cheating breast, surgically altered by a brilliant surgeon. Nodes removed, all clear – but my arm could be an issue. No lines, no infection 0 you don’t need lymphodoema on top of everything else.

The puppet master pulls the strings, so we find ourselves here. We have to be here. There is nowhere else to be, nothing else to be doing. I saw ‘we’, but the only one who really must be present in this land of chemicals, large comfy chairs and vista windows, is me. I am the planet; my lover, my family, my friend, are my satellites. They circle around me because they love me and care for me. I am ministered to by caring, loving people who I am lucky to have in my life. I want to be their sacrificial lamb, their scapegoat, because I feel it’s a thing only I should have to do. I don’t want anyone else to do this. I want to do it on their behalf.

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Key Grip – Green Fingers

Gunnas-Masters

Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER. 

Once upon a time there was a young girl that arrived in a city with only a rolled up sleeping bag and trinkets that fit into its coiled centre. A toothbrush. A comb. Her gold signet ring. A tattered friendship bracelet, bookmarking an dog-eared copy of Sexing The Cherry. A photograph of her sister in a frame. She wanted an adventure. She wanted to feel the city lights upon her skin. The rattle of the trams vibrate deep in her belly. She wanted to sit in cafes for hours, watching people go by. Imagine their hopes and dreams. Where they were going. But most of all she wanted to escape the everyday torment her father reigned upon her home. So oppressive, it pushed her down hard into the earth that she thought would just swallow her whole. Until one day, she gathered her treasures. The things that would make her smile. The things that could sustain her through the challenging days. She left. No note. No fanfare. No farewell. She had to make the move before the gravity of those oppressive games took hold of her for another day.

Standing on the arrivals platform of the train station, she took a deep breath in and looked around her. People moved brusquely to a destination. Somewhere they knew they were going. Where she was going next, she did not know. Her breath came out in a fast gust of air, her heart and breath racing. Her palms throbbing with adrenaline. She just needs to steady her breath.

Because of that school trip earlier in the year to visit universities, she had an idea of where the station exits were and what was immediately local. And Because of that trip, she lost the will to succeed in life under her father’s roof. “One of those educated arseholes” he called her. “Too good for the likes of our class of people”, he spat in her face. Her lungs became weak and she lost her breath again. A wave of anxiety raced through her like a bullet train. She clung tightly to her sleeping bag.

She could sleep in the Botanic Gardens, but that was harder to guarantee her safety while she slept. She thought through the times she’d seen this situation play out. Movies, interviews, podcasts. Anything where a runaway had survived.Every idea seemed as whacky and crazy as the next. Until finally she relied upon her special set of skills. She knew hot to manipulate men. How to read them. How to bend them to her will. She could block punches and knew how to use a blade. She knew how to make to with any item at hand. A night with a random hookup was suddenly safer than a night on the streets.

In a bar a block away, she talked her way around the bar tender and lied about her age. She chewed through two men she thought looked sadistic. Looked mean. Looked as though they would choke her and bind her and leave her gagging on her own tears. Then a younger man with a camera approached her. He had a bowler cut, heavy eyebrows and a cashmere sweater on. Around his neck was a black box that was easily from the early 1900’s. He said she was exquisite. The way the light kissed her face. He wanted to take her picture. Upstairs. Over a few drinks. She smiled and nodded. Handed him her sleeping bag as she swept up his room key on her middle finger. They walked together to the elevator, his hand around her waist, her hand clutching the key to stick out between the fingers of her closed fist.

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