Memories: 18 December 2025

18 December 2025

7:52 am hah. I dusted two rooms yesterday. This is my reward….breathing backslide. So annoying. I guess it’s always going to be like this. One step forwards, two steps back…waltzing to Oblivion.

It looks like it’s a beautiful morning outside. Better get up and make the most of it. Lots of dusting still to do!

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Dark blue skies….in the north. Paler blue in the West. Interesting juxtaposition.

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https://youtu.be/SD8urE_fGSc?si=Mcl2X-2FWY87vBzA

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Wax carving a ring I had years ago…it came into my life just prior to that dreadful evil surgery that nearly killed me on 25 June 2019 then I lost it about 6 months later. I will try to cast it in sterling silver but will keep the wax model if it turns out great to make it eventually in gold. Thus reclaiming my personal magic and my talismans. :-)

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Tonight heralds the fifth day of Chanukah. I greet it with excitement, with wisdom, with grace. I am making a magical talismanic ring to replace one I lost 7 years ago. It feels important that I reclaim that wonderful healing power and carefully guard my Sacred Space of Heart, Mind, Body and Spirit.

My neshamah wantssss her precious. In service to the Holy One I must create…or die. No one will come to save me, protect me, care for me…except my beautiful bright blessèd ones who know my soul’s yearning and cocreate with our gods, our very best lives. Becoming the best versions of ourselves. In honour, in love, and in our carefully woven personal magick.

With harm to none, so it is already done! My Bashert is out there somewhere! In the meantime, I must never let go of my psychedelic dreamer’s most heartfelt manifested Dreaming.

To thine own Self be true, hold your vision. Stay safe and sublime in the carefully constructed life plan designed for you by the Divine.

Todah Rabah. Thank you G-d. Grateful Happy Woman here!

18 December 2024

I spent the day dusting and polishing my bookshelves and all the schmontzes on them. I still have half the studio to do. Arghh. It was very hot in that room. I need to buy a fan urgently for Charlie and for my bedroom also. It rained all day but it was humid.

In the late evening I read “Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp” on YouTube. I finished that at 10:30 pm. I am now quite exhausted.

During my reading of that story, I had a spirit say “Limoncello” so I actually got that out of the fridge and drank it. Three and a half tiny shot glasses full. It was refreshing.

It helped strengthen me to read for three hours until my laptop video runs out. What can I say? Magick happens…now I have spirits encouraging me to partake of spirits mid-week.

The odd thing was, after I was drinking the second glass, my lamp started flickering which it does not usually do. So perhaps the spirit was showing me they were happy I followed their suggestion. Or it was just faulty wiring all of a sudden. lol.

18 December 2023

The golden rain tree has flushed out all her leaves and is radiant in her summer foliage. Blossoming in all four directions like her human counterpart hanging below in her hammock, waiting for the imminent Becoming. More radiant, more loving and more cherished. :-)

It’s my psychedelic dreamer’s dream…but why not? Stranger things have been known to happen.

18 December 2022

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3:32 pm tonight is the first candle of Chanukah.

Look what just arrived by courier! Thank you Sally! My goddess earthangel sweet Chanukah miracle maker!

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11:11 am don’t make a wish. Don’t ask for anything. Don’t connect, don’t commit. Just Be! The multiverses takes care of what is most necessary for its own evolution. Everything and everyone are just particles of matter in a sea of existence, floating in nebulous wonderment. On a road to Nowhere.

(Yeah…right. Nihilism and death cults…bullshit). Live your best, most joyous, most triumphant life! I dare ya. I double dare ya.

18 December 2021

I just spent two hours copying across my story “Bon Santée” across to Vocal Media. I had to re-type the entire bloody thing as it would not simply copy and paste.

Is it even worth rehashing my multitude of traumas for a public audience that seriously either doesn’t give a fuck or worse, gloats over my ghastly horrific existence like a lascivious drooling halitosis howling hellhound soaked in schadenfreude?

Rhetorical question. Yes, it’s worth it. My life shall end at some point and I want my life experiences recorded for posterity. A posterity that I may never see or hold in my arms. A blessing in a way.

But there are other survivors like me who can learn or otherwise commune with me...who need our voices out in the eternal ether. Who might heal from knowing we were never truly alone, and our voices matter. Even if my audience may only be one.

Gods help me. It’s endless. This screaming into the Void. But perhaps that is my sole mission in life since I was denied a love partner, wealth and fucking serenity.

18 December 2020

18 December 2019

Ouch. Can’t sleep and picked a skin cancer scab on my back shoulder. Now bleeding profusely. It’s gonna be a bad night. Note to self: need to see that skin specialist who is not so obsessed with my naked white flesh. Ew! Better yet! Need to find a female doctor that respects my body.

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Vale Sophie. Be at peace in Paradise now. Love you always x

(From the comment section):

She held on even after the lethal injection. So much love for life in her Spirit. A fighter to the very end.

May all the gods bless her sweet soul and keep her safe in the eternal arms of the Ein Sof Aur until I see her again.

I showered her with kisses in her last moments and thought how love has strangely different flavours in different situations.

The love we hold for our children as we clutch them to our breast nurturing them with all our own life force.

The love we share in a mystical magical delightful sexual Union (rare and precious!).

The love that tastes like sawdust in our mouth as we let our Beloveds go into the Void. Even though we know they go to a far greater Love it hurts to let go. She held on until the end. Her love is quite special and unusual, like all little warrior goddesses of Spirit.

I am humbled and grateful for the 6 years I had her in my life. The vet agreed with me how miraculous and majestic the life force is. We must honour our lives more deeply. I wasted so much heart and mind on cruel false men.

Time I can never get back and love poured into wastelands like spilt milk into chasms as large as the Grand Canyon, echoing into eternity...”hello? Hello! Helll fucking Oh....” that could have been gifted more on my own blossoming Self or on my children or on my animals.

But that love and sincere devotion will come back to me, in unexpected ways. As I said in my video two days ago, what is truly meant to be for you or with you will find its way.

If not in this reality then in the next paradigm. Of that I am firmly convinced. If I am Wrong, well it won’t matter for I will have the veil of forgetfulness and will be busy chasing new lovers or ideals.

Funny old world, innit?! 😉

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We are grounding my grief into Gaia/Sophia who will take our pain and transmute it into something beautiful and life-affirming.

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The wind whispers “Baby coming...” I just smile. One leaves, one comes. A new rebirthing.

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It’s been a spiritually loaded and emotional 6 weeks. Two Buddhist Pujas. The last one I asked for a true love partner. Hmmm. The first one I begged Tara for Sophie’s life and there was a brief reprieve.

I watched a video today which I posted that stated that all lack in life, whether financial or romantic, stems from trauma. From the big gaping hole left inside one’s soul and psyche, in particular with child sexual abuse.

It feels like Victim blaming to me but thinking about it I have had to transmute my native Rage and in recent years I have found greater peace when I stopped fighting an almost incessant invisible war with MEN.

But even now they ply their troths in the company of their gfs knowing as they really do...that I deserve my own Lover/partner not the secondary or tertiary scraps of love left over from another woman’s table. Or stable.

Hmmm.

I know one man who has loved me for almost 28 years. Been loyal too. A truly decent good man. So decent that our love for each other, never became sexual. I am grateful and happy with that.

My beautiful Jarrod who is always there for me - day or night. Even when I completely lost my shit that fateful night in 2015 or that other occasion when I asked you to rescue me from that awful Finnish Fuckhead at St Lucia and you found me walking the streets in a fury and a frenzy because I had made another epic fucked up mistake.

You have seen me fall in love with monsters and a few self-proclaimed “Angels” and gods (generally a warning sign of schizo-affective disorder). I remember when Dave declared himself a “living god” so my Holy One smited him with 4 hours of constipation and when he complained about it, I said “But my dear, you are a living god, and gods have no need of an alimentary canal. You may never shit again!!!”

But I stayed on the end of the phone, truly worried for him as my God can be a vengeful God so I made sure he eventually shat. He was terrified of me after that. I can, of course, never win against morons. They always find new ways to torment me.

But you, Jarrod, stood with me through my marriage breakdown and several years later the foulness that was David Davidson. Then Tekeste then Courtenay then my raunchy acting out after he dumped me 6 months after Gisela died. (Well, a year after that abandonment, as I needed time to process the grief and the horror!)

Then off into the night I went and picked up the most awful inadequate men as deep down inside I had always felt awful and inadequate and completely brutalised. Awww! But I rose and Shone in my own gleaming Dreaming and onwards and upwards I go!

You put up with my being in love with Dave, the Machiavellian English dreadlocked twat-burglar.

You loved me through heartache and humiliation of such epic proportions and veritable contortions that I barely held onto this life. You are my truest love, my brother, my family and only male protector.

You even reminded me how my psych pushes my buttons just before he goes on holidays, every fucking time. Yup. Another abusive pattern I am unable to transmogrify.

Jesus. I tear at my hair and my heart but I can only spack fill my heart so many times.

But the only way out is through, so I keep learning these cruel fetid lessons because one day, one day I will be blessed with a love partnership that is ennobling and true and joyous and cherished. No naughtiness needed. No sabotage. No gaping chasms of abuse.

No acting out or third party proxies. No doxies. No poxes and no sly foxes.

Someone clear and clean and downright Glorious.

Psychedelic Dreamer Dreams...even with her “domage” and damage. Quel Surprise! One simply should never underestimate me.

I am...BECOMING!

I have truly deeply loved only three men in my entire life. My dear friend Jarrod, then Davidson the cruel perverted Devo, then Dave.

I hope I never fall in love again. Each time was an excruciatingly painful, but intense soul growth.

But only one of those deepest loves remained a good true friend. I will always honour that. I could not have survived this life without you. Xxx

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I want to thank The Cat Clinic at Creek Road Mt Gravatt for their kindness and empathy when we helped little Sophie cat transition into the next paradigm. I was resolute and strong until the moment I walked through the doors.

Your vet was a lovely soulful woman and I am so grateful to have shared this most difficult moment with someone of such sweetness and understanding of the spirit world.

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Inspired by listening to the kirtan chanting on “One Track Heart” I drove to Miss India and bought a large amount of food because I am hungry for life, for love, for spirit.

Comforting my body is my only practise now.

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Me: I was very unwell this afternoon, after releasing Sophie to the Light. I am still a bit weak. But I know her time had come and I feel a sense of relief that she is at peace now. Hopefully my own peace will follow in the coming days. Holding on to our Beloveds is an arduous and impossible task.

Love is the Law. Sophie is part of that fabric of eternal love now. Dear sweet girl.

Mama T is shattered. But life goes on.

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I am always held at arms length. Cast aside like dirty linen. Don’t think I do not know. Do not see. Do not feel.

The best that some humans can do is bring their partners to stare and gloat. Like I am a freak in a Show.

Yet others reach out to me unexpectedly, with words of comfort and praise. Because they do not know me in person, only by my stories on Ancestry. Interesting.

Only cats and birds and dogs truly See me. Love me according to their own wild spirit.

I feel ridden by god, a Mustang galloping into the skies. Maybe two horses side by side, champing on their bits, snorting and sweating, running fast with God straddling both our backs, a foot on each back.

Just when we leap into the beginning of the end of the beginning ad infinitum...we fly. Never loved or valued but flown. Ridden. Cast off like a stitch in Time. Sublime.

It’s all illusion. Babies.

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7:46 am Boker Tov Yeladim!!! (Good morning Kids!!)

I had two beautiful messages from a woman on Ancestry who told me she found my stories about various family members beautiful and made her laugh and cry. I was rather stunned as I wrote those little epithets quite some years ago and don’t remember them.

I will have to have a proper look at my Ancestry musings. I know I tried to write little anecdotes of things each family member that I had contact with as we are only “remembered” by our deeds and little personality quirks and I felt it gave Life to otherwise dry stale facts of existence.

It meant as always, cleaving to my truth and experiential awareness of each person so I was surprised someone found beauty in that.

Personally my entire life has been just a long running shitstain of trauma with a few delusional high points thrown into the scarified mix but it is amazing to see how far I have come…through thick and thin. I suppose there is great beauty and Art in that.

I think I may have been too hyper sensitive about the recent frotterings and flirtations of men in my circle. After all, I am beautiful in my own weird way and I am female and it is Hot and the male of any sort of strong heterosexual bent is going to communicate with me as an object of desire especially when I was in full regalia Warrior Goddess mode complete with Top Hat and corset. Then my lawnmower man has been rather besotted with me from the moment he laid eyes on me.

I must be compassionate and subordinate my rising shining Passion and volcanic fury as after all, when a woman shuts down her sexuality for years on end as I have done many times in my adult life then of course, her “heat” is likely to explode or implode rather inconveniently or even Spiritually.

I hold my sexual energy precious as I utterly wasted it on evil men and it has taken me 5 years to rebuild this latest version of the Tanya by literally remaining celibate and owning back my power.

So yes, a little over-compensation and rather rigid loins made tender by menopause means any offers of a sexual nature send me a bit fucking troppo.

Not sure what to do about it (the chorus line of lads will be screaming “Pick me, pick me!”) But I have some more rebuilding to do I guess.

(Laughter in the Spheres. “Just Do Someone!”)

Nup. Not today Josephine. One dying cat takes priority today. No room for summer ‘mones to fly in the face of huManity.

Mama T is evolving though. So look out Boys...it could happen. I find that prospect utterly terrifying. But it’s not a challenge. Just me becoming conscious that I am Slowly dying without ever having a true lover and that makes me feel a little sad and cheated out of a quasi-normal life.

Awww! But all good. I am a warrior goddess Berserker lunatic with a flailing life force who actually likes my Self so it’s all part of the Journey.

Update 18 December 2025: the Covidian Insanity of the past 5 years showed me I was not a lunatic after all. In fact, insightful, stoic, creative and courageous. I was never crazy. Just Othered and betrayed. Over and over again. It is what it is. But true friends, true hearts align with me even when I seem quirky or ornery, because they have seen me rise up from every evil desecration of my personhood….dozens of times over the decades. C’est la vie….Babies!

18 December 2018

I am feeling much better emotionally than I did last year. The toothy problems and chronic pain that went with it really took their toll.

This season it’s my gallstones, liver, diverticulitis. But even that horror is not as painful (unless I have a full blown gallstone attack!) as the teeth were. Argggh I don’t even know how I survived three summers of agony. But I did. And Wow!

Crystal rang me last night, all excited as her friend Peter is coming back from Wales for a month at the end of February so she wants me to meet him (as I managed to avoid meeting him last trip!) I was uncomfortable and weirded out. (Still am!)

I don’t like being set up to meet men as it always always goes bad for me. But Crystal insists this man is a wonderful person and worthy of at least meeting, with a view to friendship.

So now I have anxiety about the whole thing. I promised myself long ago that I would only form friendships or love affairs on my own terms ie meet them myself and pursue something wholly mine and sacred.

The last one was beset by so much vicious sabotage that it never got off the threshing floor of epic evil bullshit so maybe I should trust my daughter’s instincts that this guy is a good one?! Maybe!

On another happy note, my niece and nephew are gifting me a lovely big leather couch they bought second hand so that is arriving on Thursday so that means I can finally let go of my mother’s old couch which was blocking my chi! (As soon as I decided it was time to let it go, offers of new friendships like the Welshman popped up on my horizon!)

My mother never wanted me to be happy. So let’s see what manifests in my life when I am no longer sitting on the remains of the djinn’s evil narcissism.

A new couch will bring fresh perspectives, methinks. Not being a prisoner of my past. I pray that the gods gift me a true authentic loyal lover/partner. A happy, peaceful, comfortable life with someone who is happy and proud to be with me.

If not, I will continue as I have always done. Keep myself safe, relatively sane, free and content with my fate.

Either way, I can’t lose!

18 December 2017

I woke up this morning feeling brighter and stronger and as though I have climbed out of that long dead tunnel of unrequited love. Just for this morning I breathe free and clear and hope that the gods have heard my prayer for reclamation of my soul’s purpose and my heart’s desire.

No more false lovers and their consorts haranguing me. No more liars, cheats and whoremongers. No more distressing stalking by the one I truly thought might have been genuine. No more. No more. My angels threw us together one more time to test if I have finally let go and moved on.

I failed that test miserably. My love for him (my torturer) is as pure and deep and intense as the first time I met him. It bubbles deep down in my spirit like a deep geyser, emanating out occasionally as I release the pressure.

It has been sad and empty and lost but along the way, with many traumas added on in the past 3 years I learned important things about myself that I could not have discovered without this putrid karmic painful odyssey.

Haha Post Traumatic Growth. Like a fucking splinter in your eye, or a carbuncle up your cloaca. Where was I? Oh yes. Healing!

I will love him until the day I die (may that time come soon) but I am grateful for my unconscious cruel and vapid Muse. My heart’s delight. Psy sighs.

Maybe in the next dimension I will have the beautiful Love that was always torn from me in this one.

So many of my men teased and taunted. Came so close to intimacy but not close enough. False and fake and pitiless, all of them. Like Courtenay who only wanted me for sex twice a week (for which he constantly fixed my little car so we were both in a prostitution contractual agreement). I got fucked but I kept my freedom of movement.

The lovers before that, more contracts with the devil. The homoeopath, so fucking evil and perverted he still came to me after his physical death. Thought he could scare me. But I had loved him deeply once, so I accepted the honour of the long cold goodbye as he hammered on my door for four consecutive nights. Pathetic!

I cast out all demons and negative spirits (including my mother!) Be gone, begorrah!! You’ve cost me true loves, safety, serenity, solace, homes, and prosperity and even my children.

I curse you to the Seventh Hells and any other hells that might come after that.

You took my beautiful heart that was so fecund, rich and pure and you debased it. Taught it fear and shame and dishonour.

But I climbed up each day and I grew that heart again. A carbon copy of a carbon copy but the soul that seeded it is a Pure One.

No man, woman or child could tear my heart away from the gods who sustained me in the darkest, most terrifying of times and who formed me, as the decades fell away from me in the blink of an eyelid; into the Warrior I am (was, and ever shall be).

A Hellian. A Berserker. A Banshee. A middle aged woman with a broken kintsugi heart. Golden and glistening. Shining forth in my rage and pain and suffering. A lighthouse in the dense fog of a million nights of restless aching. Wake up, Tanya. Your time is come!

I smile and curtsy at the Fates and their sisters, the Muses. Gift the middle finger to my cuntish Abusers. Amuse the nightstalkers and ghost walkers with my fierce determination to just keep going, no matter what they threw at me.

Arose and Shone, like an invisible jewel in a sunlit refraction. Here and there. Scaramouche. Do the Fandango.

Tinkling laughter of merriment and mirth.

I don’t Belong to you.

Copyright Tanya Désirée Arons 18 December 2017 9.27 am

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I want to thank the beautiful attuned International Singer who randomly gifted me with a picture of a Rose in the snow and Ice, last evening. I was struggling with one of my many pits of despair/grief/loss and her timing was rather spiritual and startling.

I went to see her concert here at the Hamilton Hotel and it coincided with the very night that I had found out my father had died. My evil treacherous cowardly father whom had allowed me to be abused as a child as he aligned with my narcopathic mother and my paedophile godfather and 4 decades later he aligned with my mother and her last husband against me. Sick perverted evil fucks.

Of course I could not/would not let news of his death stop me from going out that night to see a famous singer whose music many years before had literally given me strength to get out of a shitty marriage to survive.

The tickets had been bought for me by a former friend I knew from the casino (only later he said I owed him drinks etc to pay him back. Another lowlife cuntish thing to do). But I attended the concert for the very first time of a woman I admired.

A survivor-to-thriver who has been successful in her career, in spite of being robbed by a record company. In the ways of many child-to-adult survivors we are beset by evil and sabotage, by cascades of trauma, by false friends and/or lovers, or in my case toxic family as well.

It meant a lot to me to attend her concert. More than she could ever know. I did not line up for an autograph or a photo even though my former friend insisted, as I saw she was feeling stressed and exhausted and there were so many others that demanded her attention.

True Friends respect the boundaries of each other. Love without expectations. Without demands. Without violations of space and time.

Anyway, I walked away without giving up my integrity or hers. As is my wont.

So the gift of the picture of the frozen rose to match my frozen heart was especially poignant as my father had often sung to me “The Rose” which was sung by another beautiful Artist whom I have long admired.

The message is clear. I must accept the thaw and blossom again. But I have pushed myself through 52 glacial ice ages of cracked brokenness and bloomed anyway. Bloomed and dropped my petals, gnarling up rosehips and forcing out thorns. Fragrant and flagrantly perfected in my own debased but stoic beauty.

Love is Eternal! I wait for you! Alone and forgotten. The lonely Jew. The powerful but unacknowledged Witch. The fierce warrior of Light. The little girl who craved Freedom even if it meant Death.

The woman who craves Love and triumph over oppression, even if it means Death. The mother who fought to keep her kids safe and failed. The daughter who had no hope for any kind of safety with my family of origin.

A few days ago I spoke to my childhood friend who expressed so much love and compassion for my half-sister who also betrayed me, not just with the will dispute 5 years ago, but as a small child.

Where was the love and compassion and protection for me?

No wonder I am boiling in my own blood and piss with rage and unresolved (never resolved!) grief as I never once received an apology from my parents or Angela or from Trevor Singh. Nor from Cees. Never sorry. Never wrong. Predating on little children was acceptable behaviour for them. In fact they supported each other in it.

Sick and evil.

This has always been my life. A distortion of worldview of such horror but I am still always and forever Wrong. So be it.

I have The Rose. A song of Redemption and the comfort of the capricious Trickster gods. Amen v’selah.

Copyright : Tanya Désirée Arons 18 Dec 2017 10.42 am

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Why are you here? What do you want? I who have nothing! What is it you glean or suck from my heart and soul!

Schadenfreude? Voyeurism? Mockery or genuine love and compassion?

What is the depth of my Love? My attainment?

Who knows?

Kelly Anne: 1. What are you smoking today?

2. It sounds awesome.

3. Where's mine?

4. Don't you know its rude not to share good stuff with your friends???

5. 😜😁😂😂😂😂😂

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Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf. Smart women. Wish I had taken a leaf out of your book. Fuck it. The Tanya always cleaves to Life like a fool. Not worthy. But still kicking. Failure is my Style. Roll over Quentin Crisp!

18 December 2016

Big storm imminent. Phew!

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I had a wonderful afternoon/evening/night celebrating Jenny's 55th birthday. Oh my!

I will be in recovery mode for the next 4 days.

18 December 2015

18 December 2014

Today I fell out of my hammock. So now I have a sore left shoulder and bruised thigh.

But who cares! I have a sylvanberry splinter in my forefinger, two ingrown toenails and have been boiling in my own body fluids (but not in a good way)!

I have a sore neck, heat exhaustion and some other irritants But I don't care! I have a new kitten!

It's Chanukah! I am happy in spite of my prickling, burning painful woes.

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My little man, Mushu woke up, had a few licks of pet milk, sat and ate cat litter (clay bentonite), demanded cuddles, licked my face, had his first appearance as The newest New World Leader on Paltalk, mewled at everyone ( my bright laptop screen and discarnate voices) then promptly went to sleep beside me.

He is content.

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1 pm. I got woken up by a very determined kitten, mewling and batting my face with both tiny paws. Fair enough. I rushed him to his cat litter tray. He doesn't like the smaller one that Sophie marked as soon as I put litter in it. He struggled to climb into the much bigger one. He had a leak, covered it up (really good boy!) then climbed out of it, fell out, landed on his back in shallower tray beside it. Oyy!

Then I put him next to water bowls. He refused to drink but kept snuffling at the empty saucer I put his milk in last night. This little guy knows his own mind. So I gave him his pet milk.

Happy Kitten. We were both exhausted and slept from 4 ish until 1 pm. (I worried he would keep me up all night). I had him on his little bed, beside me on the bed. Penny was not amused but didn't attack him. She slept where she almost always sleeps, guarding my left side on the edge of the bed.

I was in a lot of pain with the swollen shoulder and thigh from falling out of the hammock yesterday. It was nice to have Penny comforting me on my left side.

I got Penny kisses and Mushu kisses and for a woman who can't get a man to love her...I am totally adored by my animals (they have taste and style and of course Mushu has powers beyond ordinary imagination (7 weeks old and toilet-trained...amazing!)

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I am happy, vital (in spite of my health issues), blessed, abundant, prosperous (food in my belly and catsssss), and most important of all, greatly loved!

The universe easily provides for my every need and most desires.

Everything is perfect in my reality.

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I have an urge to go out now the air is cooler. No money and I would have to unwrap the car from the hail blanket. Too much hassle. Yet the Wildness calls me!

Hohum. Better keep myself busy I guess.

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Trigger warning: Bullying, CSA, overcoming the psychopath.

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BON SANTEE

My mother has a nostalgic memory of her own mother. “You are driving me up the wall”. So she laughs at her childhood memory of trying to run up the walls.

“Was machst du?” (What are you doing?) my grandmother shrieks at my mother.

“I am trying to climb up the walls ‘cos I drive you up them!” For once she is not beaten senseless. The comic irony was not lost on my grandmother. In fact comic irony was rarely lost on anyone in my family of origin.

A clever quip could often avoid calamity, unless the timing was wrong, or the tone was a little too sarcastic, or sometimes just because Mum was in a bad mood.

Then nothing saved your arse or your face! “Here comes Slaphappy” my Dad would quip, gleefully. He loved to make her public enemy number one but the truth was, they were both my enemies.

Both were inconsistent, volatile and unpredictable. It had always been so. They were raised with the same level of violence and the threat of impending doom.

Well in actual fact, my mother had endured worse violence, worse uncertainty, being raised my depressed volatile maniac of a grandmother, and surviving the blanket phosphor bombing in Hamburg in WW2, and also in the south of Germany.

The violence she survived was extreme. She was afraid to go to swimming lessons as she was always covered in bruises. One time the teacher saw them and wrote a letter home, but the swimming lessons discontinued.

This was rather inconvenient when my 15 year old mother was put in charge of looking after civilian orphans who were bombed out and sent to Bavaria. She had orders “from the top” to teach the children how to swim in the local lake.

She couldn’t swim properly. However orders were orders in Nazi Germany! So each day she went to the lake and dog paddled until she became confident enough to not drown. Then she took the children down.

They also learned to swim. (Probably to this day they too, can only dog paddle but that was still swimming).

Anyway, I have this fond memory of climbing our own walls in our kitchen. My mother would encourage me to climb on a chair, onto the kitchen stove top which was high enough to climb up onto the top of the kitchen cupboard.

Then vertically from there, I could reach the manhole to the attic and then I could carefully push the manhole cover up onto the ceiling beams. Then I would shimmy on tiptoe, off the top cupboard and climb into the ceiling cavity.

I would sit up here for as long as I could stand the heat. NZ summers were never very hot, but under the tin roof with no insulation the temperature would get very humid indeed.

We had a skylight under which I could read the books that my mother stored up there. Or she would get me to tell her what was up there and I would hand down various items to her.

It never occurred to me, aged 6 and 7, how very dangerous this wall-climbing really was. It never occurred to my mother either. I was fortunate in that I never fell out of the attic and broke anything. I was small, agile and adventurous.

I did later break my right wrist. I was 7. That happened at a NZ Health Camp, several hours north of Wellington, where we lived. Oh, the irony. I was sent there with my poor chest issues with chronic bronchitis, and came home with a broken wrist. I hated that camp.

We slept in for dormitories and there were dozens of children, sleeping on stretchers in this huge hall. Adults walked up and down all night. I feared them. I had to reason to fear them.

If kids cried or wouldn’t settle to sleep they were spanked on their behinds. So mostly I faked sleep until I passed out. Surprisingly I was not sexually abused there. Small mercies.

I do remember they were terribly upset when I broke my wrist. We were miles from any hospital so they drove me to a gp who confirmed my arm was broken and gave me painkillers, and put my arm in a sling.

I was shipped back to Wellington so that I could be driven to Wellington Hospital where orthopaedic specialists could reset my wrist and put a proper cast on it.

I felt afraid to be the only child on that bus, coming home early from that camp. Afraid, and in pain.

The bus trip took forever. I slept most of the way. My way of coping with long trips. Easier to sleep through it than deal with the crap that usually went on. My parents screaming all the way.

This time I slept as a way to pass the time. Also because I was a tad sleep-deprived from trying to stay awake each night in the camp.

I broke my arm after being bullied by a boy, behind me on the monkey bars. I was halfway across. I got scared. I froze.

“Jump”, he yelled. “You’re holding us all up. Jump!” The monkey bar was high up. Higher than I had anticipated from the ground.

I hung down, there were a few feet beneath my hanging feet, left to jump. “Jump, for Christ’s sake, you sissy girl, get out of my way!” So I jumped down.

I landed hard on my arse, but my right hand and arm landed on my lap, and involuntarily bounced off my right knee and onto the hard ground. In that split second, that my wrist and arm made contact with the ground, there was a sick crunching sound and instantaneous pain, such as I had never experienced before. My screams quickly drew a crowd of kids and adult guardians.

The bus arrived at the depot. I was the last passenger waiting on the bus. My fucktard Mother. Is late. The bus driver wants to go home. His shift has ended. It was a long trip.

He is eyeballing me in the rear vision mirror. The tension is building. I am alone, on a bus, in pain, and my mother has not come to pick me up. I am 7 years old. I don’t know what to do.

So I start crying. He gets mad and frustrated. He yells from his front driver’s seat. “Get off the bus, Kid. I have to go. I can’t wait forever, you know!”

I think to myself ‘What a bastard!’ But I don’t know what to do. If I get off the bus, I’ll be alone, on the street. If I stay on the bus, he will hate me but I reckon I am safer on the bus. Finally he explodes in anger “Look Kid, your mother isn’t here, but you have to wait for her outside.”

There is a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach but I gather my bag and get off the bus. Just as I am getting off the bus, my mother runs up, huffing and puffing with her characteristic asthmatic wheeze.

“About time” yells the Driver. She yells “I am sorry. I went to the wrong depot!” I think to myself, ‘she is always going to the wrong depot. She is always so, so wrong’.

I can’t help feeling relief run through me, like a rush of tingling fever from my scalp to my toes. I am handle her wrath, she is My Monster. But I did not feel like handling the wrath of the big burly aggressive arsehole driver. He cranks up the motor and drives away, still fuming.

My mother gathers me up and we go to catch another bus home. The next day my father drives us to the hospital. He has work. He leaves me with my mother.

I get put in the waiting room then taken into the surgery. My mother waits outside. There are three or four doctors and nurses in the room. A bright light. They give me an anaesthetic. Tell me to count backwards.

In an instant I am gone. An instant later, I wake up with a thumping great cast on my wrist and forearm. It is heavy, uncomfortable and I feel like my arm is swollen and being squeezed like a sausage within.

They usher me out. My mother is waiting outside. We are told to wait for the pain medication prescription. She is hassled, irritated, and awkward.

She turns to me. “You screamed the entire hospital down, the whole time you were in there. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

I have embarrassed her. I don’t even know why. I don’t remember screaming. I reply “I don’t know Mummy, I didn’t even know I was screaming”.

The doctors or nurses come out. Mutter something to her. She snatches the script. She pushes me at the back of my head, down the long corridor out of the hospital.

I have been a nuisance again. Why am I always such a pain in the arse? Why did I scream? I don’t remember my dreams. I was out cold.

What did I dream? What happened in there? I remember waking up and the look of alarm in the medical staff faces.

They know. They know but no one will do anything. I am not important. I am a little kid. No one cares about little kids. We have no value. No rights. Bad things happen to us and no one believes you anyway.

I look down at my squeezed painful right arm. Yup. Cool. I have something no one else has. I have a massive cast on my arm. People can write on it.

It’s heavy and cumbersome and it will heal my arm but it will also make a great weapon! I smile to myself. My very first Superpower!

18 December 2012

I had a nice content day today! Off to debrief tomorrow which I always look forward to. Been very unwell the past month so I will be happy to report I am picking up again!

Off to dreamland at 2.27am which is better than yesterday at 6 am. Hohum! I have evolved into quite the possum! Fuzzy, nocturnal and fruity!

…

I was blessed with two eggs today. Not sure if the new layer was Elvira or Tabitha but hopefully there will be three eggs tomorrow when they all get busy. The china eggs Lyn bought for me to trick them into going back on the lay worked a charm.

I think Hecate also needed time to recover from the shock of seeing all the other chickens be slaughtered by the mystery murderer. Poor little hen.

I spent some time giving her cuddles the other day, and the new hens, Elvira and Tabitha, although still skittish around me, have taken to talking to me in chicken and following me around the garden so they seem to be getting used to me now.

They are all so sweet. I adore all my fur, feathered and finned children!

…

Contented mood but seriously worried about money. I don't get paid intil 24 Dec so rather frustrated. Hmmm.

I had my debrief with my psych today, and he is pleased that I have taken ownership of my personal Awesomeness and assures me that I can keep on becoming more and more awesome!

It's interesting that my most positive role model, is my psychiatrist. I always feel so good after seeing him and I think he enjoys my debriefs with my recent antics and stories as well!

18 December 2011

I've had a really great weekend so far! I stayed at a friend's place at Helensvale and we went Clubbing and ended up at the Casino! It was pretty mad in there!

Some very drunk, very young man tried to kiss me which was flattering and disturbing at the same time! I am sure he had goggle-itis and thought I was way younger than I am!

I didn't feel like kissing a slack-jawed Youth so I shoved him into the crowd, instructing him to find someone young and beautiful as that is the order of Nature! Lol. Crystal reckons I should have just kissed him anyway for practice. lol.

Then I met not one, but two Electricians who were unfortunately married so we played a delicious flirtatious game, including the lady in their group which was funny and Safe cos we weren't going anywhere with that! lol.

Last night I went to Greenbank with Gail and Pedro which is fun too. Men stare as he is so tall and threatening looking and one blonde woman actually stood next to him and asked Gail if it was all right cos she felt safe with us! I laughed my arse off.

Copyright Tanya Désirée Arons