“Michael – I’d like you to reflect on your feelings of connectedness”

This is something that one of the head facilitators said to me after I did my offence map.  I guess I’ll try to explain an offence map first – so it’s basically looking at everything, your background, your state of mind, your emotional state, high risk situations – so it’s trying to strip everything back and look at “you” when you committed your offence.  It’s also about trying to look at it from the victim’s perspective – I found it very powerful, it’s still playing on my mind now! 

Obviously – so that’s the badly explained…. Anyway part of what it did was make me look at my own life and I think it was actually what’s given me a different perspective (beyond that whole being locked up and losing all of your freedoms and being strip searched).  I fully know I’m not perfect – there is legitimately something broken in me – my emotions don’t work as they should – I have massive regulation issues – There was a fight my ex-husband and I had once – he called me emotionally retarded, I now think he’s right.  I don’t know if that is the bit in me that’s broken.  I honestly think it is – my emotions are fucked!

 

When I was in prison I first heard the song “scared to be lonely” and there was a large part of that resonated.  Was I only having sex because I was lonely – so for a brief moment, I wouldn’t be lonely, I’d feel loved.

 

Is it just our bodies? Are we both losing our minds?
Is the only reason you're holding me tonight
'Cause we're scared to be lonely?
Do we need somebody just to feel like we're alright?
Is the only reason you're holding me tonight
'Cause we're scared to be lonely?

 

I know there’s a large difference between sex and being loved.  Don’t get me wrong I love sex – I wouldn’t have had near as much sex as I have didn't.  A comment from one of the guys in my DV Course when I said I had a lot of sex (in excess of 3000 people) – the remark was “I was thinking more around 150…”  So yeah… I’ve had a stupid amount of sex – especially when you consider that I’ve had two very long term relationships where I was “mostly” monogamous.

One of my ‘housemates’ and I had a fight last week (oh anger regulation fail) and he mentioned the fact that I hadn’t had sex – I’ve been out of prison for nearly 2 months and you know what – I’ve had offers (duh!), I just don’t feel that burning need, that drive to have sex.  I am going to guess that it’s happened because I think I need to fix myself first.  That and to be honest my sex drive is non-existent at the moment because I’m so internalised and focused on the stuff that is going on in my head.

So much of this is also tied into my self-image and self-esteem.  I’m getting older and I know I am… there’s a certain point as a gay man where you cross a “line” or I think you do where you are no longer as attractive.  I’m ok with that – mind you I also did have the option of working out while I was in prison to help improve my body image and my health and weight.  I pretty much chose not to take those.  I am reasonably comfortable in my skin.  I can handle being a vaguely out of shape nearly 50 year old.  This puts me in the “daddy” category and let’s face it I am generally not attracted to twinks – I’m not attracted to young guys, if it was just for sex – yeah maybe… and you start getting into this whole bizarre world of sub-cultures… and I will be honest I don’t feel like I belong.  I have spent most of my life feeling like I don’t belong- I have always struggled to feel like I am part of the gay community as I honestly didn’t feel like I belonged, I’ve had conversations with other people and they say the same thing.   We’re a splintered and fractured community – the only time I felt I belonged was back in my clubbing days, even then you had a large part of the community that would “tsk tsk” over the fact that you were doing drugs.

 

I'll do slight segue – the only place I ever felt I belonged was in the Melbourne Techno scene.  These people were awesome, next to none gave a shit that I was gay, they let me be me and I let them be them.  It was most definitely some of the best times in my life.  Some of those parties were totally fucking epic!!!

I’ve always looked at being gay is hard because if you want to plug into the gay community – it’s all about sex – you have to look a certain way (which I did for a number of years), you have to be promiscuous, you have to party hard (and obviously take copious amounts of drugs).  Then the different sub-cultures have different rules or whatever…  At the end of the day it’s all bullshit – it’s bullshit I bought into though.  I was a party queen (and I looked damned good), I flirted with the leather community (flirting MAY not be quite the right word), I was part of the sex on premises crowd for a while (this was a body image issue).  

 

For me being gay was about sex and it seemed to pretty much sex only.  You don’t go to dance party to do a point of meth and expect to meet mr right – you’re doing it meet mr right now in the toilets…  and then there’s chemsex – this is why I was in the party scene, the sex on premises scene, the let’s have sex with 3 people in a day scene…  Drugs have been a massive part of my sex life.

 

And I think this where the sense of connectedness comes into things.  If we look at my emotional issues and my emotional regulation issues – I think it was equating sex with “love” – I was taking attention as a positive.  This person wants to be with me – it means that this person must love me… which of course you then have the emotional downer when you get rejected.  There was really cute Irish guy I met at The Wickham (a gay club) when I was speeding off my tits – I had a date with him with him the week after where we played chess and got stoned.  I freaked him out because I was apparently being too intense – I kept staring at him (he was really fucking cute and he had an accent!!!!!).  Anyway he kicked me out and said we were pretty much done as he wasn’t after a relationship as he already had a boyfriend.

 

The funny thing too the number of guys I hooked up with that didn’t see me as relationship material…  here I am basically looking for mister right and I will admit that the large number of guys I slept with at the end of the day I was looking for a boyfriend, significant other so on… It’s sort of really stupid to think that the sheer number of men that I slept with and I was looking for a boyfriend.  I had one guy who I had sex with say “you’re a nice guy – I wouldn’t introduce you to my parents.”  How you go from being a nice guy to not being introduced to the olds is beyond me.  I got that a lot that though – a large part was my reputation, I had a reputation as a slut and an addict, apparently if you have an extensive sexual history people don’t want a bar of you.  Don’t get me wrong – I was looking for a relationship, I hate being alone and this is one of the issues I have.  I meet someone, fall in love with them and then all of a sudden – it’s all about them and I take a back seat, then I crack the shits and start “rebelling” – it’s when I start cheating or self-sabotaging.  It’s completely unhealthy and completely stupid.  I do dumb things… It’s almost like I can’t allow myself to be happy.
So going back to thinking about my feeling of connectedness – I don’t want to be alone… and then there really time I can’t stand being around people.  Go figure!  Maybe that is what’s broken.  I don’t want to be alone, right now I do want to be alone….

 

Eh – I’m fucked up…. (and of course it gets worse!)

You’re gay? We didn’t know!!!! You told me all through high school…

 I’m not quite where to start this at the moment.  I watch stuff like Drag Race where 10 year old kids are confident to go to a convenient in drag and they accept that their sexual preference is most likely non-binary.  At 10!  And their parents are being supportive.  This I think is the world I would have loved to grown up in – where the airy-fairy artsy-farty bookish child could be encouraged.  I loved art!!!! OMG! Did I ever!  It was my favourite subject in school and getting to see a Pop Art exhibition at the State Gallery in 1984 was mindblowing!  Brisbane NEVER EVER GOT big shows – and there’s Andy Warhol soup cans, Roy Lichtenstien paintings and it’s funny the Lichtenstien painting I always thought had more of an impact on me.  There was also David Hockney’s Splash series – my god those paintings are amazing the grapic quality, the angles…. I’m a frustrated commercial artist at the end of the day!!!!  Well that was sort of a detour wasn’t it –laughs-

 

So anyway when I was growing up – I had no idea of what gay meant…

There wasn’t a clear notion of ‘gay’ – also considering that I grew up in a very conservative state that pretty much repressed any and all homosexual activity.  This is what democracy looks like kids!  There just was really anyone apart from the doctor in lost in space and grey haired dude from are you being served that were ‘gay’ – so basically the gay characters that you were exposed to were the ‘flamboyant’ gays and even one that really wasn’t (Dame Edna).  So basically to be gay you had to be overly flamboyant or a drag queen.  At least that was the impression I was left with.  There really didn’t seem to be a “middle’ ground – you know ‘normal’ people.   That wasn’t visible when I was growing up.  I’ll be honest – that’s fucking hard – you’re cast adrift into a sea of hormones, emotions and trying to find yourself and there’s nothing you can look at go that’s who I should be.

One of my childhood heroes is Jim Richards – one of the greatest racing drivers in Australia EVER!!!!!  There becomes that disconnect though where there’s that part of you that feels you don’t belong to that tribe.  “If I’m gay I shouldn’t have an interest in cars…” Gays are supposed artsy fartsy overly dramatic and lisp…   I was going somewhere with all this. 

 

So factoring my parents divorce and dramas evolving from that (Mother kept disappearing out of our lives) and as a teenager I am trying to find my place in the world – trying to find my tribes, my interests.  Some of my interests had commonality with my increasing interest in men.  I had a bit of a crush on Pat Cash – I look back at that now and it’s just like… yeah… nah…

 

I fooled around with a couple of guys I went to school with – nothing major – we were teenagers experimenting.  I personally thought nothing of it – I didn’t see it as being a big deal.  Now I don’t know if that was because I was gay or because we had always been told how liberal the Netherlands were and being dutch… yeah probably column a.  However there was always that part of me that thought I was doing the wrong thing because I had always been told it was wrong.

During this whole period I met the gay brother of one of Dad’s friends and I had a bunch of questions for him – the poor guy.  I admire his bravery though being openly gay and HIV+ in a time when it wasn’t accepted.  He was the first person that ever told me that I’m ok, I can be who I want to be and not worry what others think of me.

 

My main concern always was what would my family think if there was something different about me.  Now I never asked him any technical questions it was all mostly to do around the emotional stuff that you have to deal with when you’re growing up.  I will admit that growing up is probably easier for straight people as they don’t these “am I ok? Am I normal?” questions going their head constantly.  Then not even get into the lockerroom situation – at this point thankfully I was fat so I was also non-threatening…. So it never came up as such for me.  I was just universally detested for being fat, being gay, being mouthy – I really was sarcastic from a young age.  

 

So anyway keeping all that in mind...

I had moved out of home – I had totalled my car – I think it was move first and car second – there was a like a day or two between the two events.  So I moved in with a friend from school Michelle, she was actually a really nice girl.   We need a little bit more background here….

So this was Brisbane in the 90s – public transport sucked.  This literally was a city divided in two halves.  The river… I guess that’s why we are called the river city.  So anyway I was working in Taringa (up a fucking hill) and living in Herston (SO MANY fucking hills) and because I had no car…. I was walking 45 minutes each to the train station to get work – so say I’d a 5-6 hour shift and you can add 90 minutes to that for walking….  I started losing weight!  I LOST SO MUCH WEIGHT… I was 128kgs when I moved in when I moved home I was 93kgs and that was over the course of 5 months.  Not bad hey?  

 

It was also around the same time I ever got blonde highlights – we shan’t discuss that though (the things I did to my hair when I had it!).  Also pro-tip don’t carry free pizza on public transport – everyone will ask you for a slice… and then carrying it the 45 minutes to home…. Yeah… nah… not so convenient…

 

I did have a whole thing already written here and word decided to crash and take everything with it… lessons for me save more regularly.

 

Hopefully take 2 will be better written!

So taken everything into account Michelle was actually the first person to ask me flat out if I was gay.  I told her I honestly didn’t know – she suggested that what I should consider was having sex with a man and having sex with a woman.  I had sex with a man –winner winner chicken dinner- I have been literally joking for most of my life that I had sex with a man and that was it… I didn’t need to have to sex with woman.  “How would you know if you don’t try it?” – I’ll then ask if they’ve ever had sex with a man or a woman – “No!!!!” “How do you know if you don’t try it?”

I will hop on a slight high horse here – things seem easier for heterosexuals as there is none of this questioning, am I normal?  Is this just an attraction or am I {pick a letter of the alphabet}.  The impression that I do really get is that life is much more black and white for heterosexual people.

 

The next challenge at the end of the day was to get laid.  Anyway we’ll get to that in a bit… So after my conversation with Michelle I decided to investigate the male option – obviously that’s more where my attraction lay… - now at this point I was 19 – I was 93kgs and my self-worth and self-image were total crap… so anyway I bought an ‘outrage’ magazine – it literally took me three weeks to build up the courage to buy the damn thing.  I was made to feel even dirtier when it was given to me in a brown paper bag… YAY QUEENSLAND CENSORSHIP!!!! It was terrible, again I was being made to feel like I was somehow dirty or inferior or other.  I really can not being to explain how awful growing up gay in Queensland was.  So anyway I have this magazine which I have been made to feel is like a porn magazine and there’s articles that present points of view where gay people are ‘normal’ – it’s not the worst thing in the world to be gay.  So anyway there were personals at the back of the magazine and I will admit it took me a fair bit of time to answer one of them – admittedly I had no idea of what most of the acronyms and so on meant… so it took me a couple of weeks to respond to a few.  I think all of a sudden because I was a virgin (regardless of my self-image and self-esteem) it made me attractive.  I was petrified to give out my home number because all of a sudden I was worried that I might be branded as ‘gay’ – I will be honest that I had no idea of how bad the culture of fear and discretion existed in the gay community.  There is still a part of me that is quite saddened that gay men (including me) had to go through that.

 

Anyway a guy responded to my letter, I called him (again the amount of effort it took for me to do that) and asked me to go to Coolum for the weekend.  So here’s a funny story – we had sushi for lunch one day and I’m trying to prove how sophisticated and shit I am… there’s a ball of wasabi… at this point I didn’t realise that you were supposed to scrape off a little bit of wasabi and mix it with the soy sauce.  I ate the whole thing – straight down… bless his heart he tried his hardest to not laugh at me… he failed – oh looks it’s Michael doing what Michael does best… something stupid.  He and I ended up becoming lovers for a couple of months – he was a sweet guy, just a little bit creepy… he worked at a high school and liked his men without hair… so yeah… I done got shaved… I’m hairy as now in part because of him…  Another funny story (or not so funny) – when my first boyfriend and I broke up I became a clubber.  Most Saturday nights I’d be at one of the main gay clubs in Brisbane – drugged up to the eyeballs and dancing my arse off – I couldn’t dance to begin with but I was pretty!  It was also the start of my ‘muscle mary’ stage.  So anyway I’m grabbing a drink of water and this man taps me on the shoulder – “you look familiar!” – I sized him up – “Sorry do I know you?  I work in the city – you may have seen me there…”  It was probably a mean thing to do considering he was my first.  I remember him being a lot more attractive!  Which you know probably a lot of my ex-lovers would say that about me and they’re entitled too…

I was a rude prick when I knew I was attractive.  I will admit that much – I became a nasty gay.  I did also have a reputation for being a slut – it a slut if you’re easy?  Inquiring minds want to know?  -laughs-

 

So yes I finally worked out that I was gay.  Does that mean I came to terms with my sexuality?  I’d say not – I feel at times I am still trying to come to terms with it – but that’s just me, that’s me and my whole unique set of problems.  My self-image and sef-worth are so low that it gets all tangled up in this.  And it’s “almost” funny – 30 years on and I am dealing with the same sort of issues… they are my issues though – don’t me wrong, I know I’m gay, I’m queerer than a $3 bill.  It’s more about how I feel and my place in the world.

 

So yes I was gay, queer and fabulous…. –rolls eyes-

And then starts the whole process of coming out – the fact that as a gay man I had to do this really fucking shits me.  I shouldn’t have to say I’m gay – it’s not like someone goes oh hi I’m Bob – I’m heterosexual!”  Realistically I can’t say anyone can miss the fact that I’m gay – going by what people have told me its pretty obvious that I am that way inclined.  I shouldn’t have to come out… I’ve had to come out as gay, I’ve had to come out as being a gay parent, I’ve had to come out as a violent offender so on so forth… I seem to have to spend my life coming out – some I understand the violent offender thing – yeah that makes sense.  The gay man and gay parent thing no.  I am a person first and foremost – what difference does it make who I sleep with?  Apparently a lot… 

 

This will come later in a few posts – I am a huge believer in equality – we are all the same.  End of story – no ifs, no ands, no buts.  In gay and lesbian circles that actually makes me quite rare.  I’m the same as anyone else – I’m sure there’s no end of political discourse available on this and let’s just leave it where is it…

 

Anyway I started the process of coming out.  I think the first person I told was my best friend.  His response was “can’t you bisexual?” I can handle you being bisexual”  I asked him if he was heterosexual – he said yes – oh can’t you be bisexual? 

I really got petty – admittedly not as petty as some people…

I went to the movies with another friend Tiffany and I was being all serious and shit and told her that we was something we had to talk about – so we got some ice creams.  It was her shout and she got me a Golden Gaytime… I think she knew somehow… so I told her I was gay, no worries no fuss…

 

I told Michelle –laughs- (and this has become a question I have been asked many times) “did you sleep with a woman?” “no I slept with a man and I didn’t feel the need to sleep with a woman.”  For some reason people really have issues with this – how do you know if you have never gone there… would you sleep with a man?  Ewwww no… how do you know if you have never gone there?

Everyone always has an icky coming story….

So I told a friend I was gay, he seemed to be ok with it, he then told his next door neighbour who I also thought was a friend.  Anyway they gave me a couple of days to tell Dad that I was gay.  So this was 1991 technically homosexuality was still illegal and because it was Dad… IT WAS DAD!!!  Dad and I may have had our issues but he was my Dad.  So anyway I have never been so stressed in my life, the amount of time it took me to build up the courage to tell Dad I was gay… I told him and this does still make me kind of laugh “as long as your happy!”… Dad was seriously very chill at times.  I think it was also the whole 2^nd child thing.  I may have slightly flipped out… I think because of the amount of stress and anxiety – I said to him “what that’s it?”  I had obviously expected the worse, to be kicked out, homeless etc… That’s not my Dad though.

 

Telling my brother – he came back from fruit and cotton picking in WeeWaa (he had the most awesome drawl!) and he was sleeping on a mattress on the floor in my for a couple of days.  “Just so you know so you don’t feel uncomfortable – I’m gay” “yeah that’s cool”

So that was most of the coming out I had to – at the time and even now I realise how lucky I was coming out for me could have been much worse.  Even now you hear of horror stories.  So yes I got lucky… very lucky actually.  I’ll continue this in the next instalment!!!

The ‘recession’ we had to have…

 Before I go into the struggles of me trying to find a job or some of the life choices I made…

 

Let’s just revisit a couple of things from my time at high school… so I’m sure everyone has at least one underage drinking story – I used to sneak into a club called city rowers – even in the 80s it was a bit of a dive… I did have my first guy try to pick me up though – when I told I was 15 he freaked out – AS YOU WOULD!  After that we decided to hotfoot it out of there before I got busted for being there underage – nevermind the following week I was there again.

 

I really was a bit of a rebel –laughs-

 

I realise it seems probably a smidge tame… it gets worse though – I was a little bit more than a rebel.  I developed a crush on a bad boy – he had this grand dream of joining the NRA – I do know how to pick them… I really do.  Anyway, he was a bit of a troublemaker and I think his Mother was hoping I’d be a positive influence on him.  Yeah so that worked out really well for me…  He was into stealing cars, I had a gun fired in front of my face – not something I’m going to ever forget… he was basically crazy – it just took me a while to work that out – another one of Michael’s life mistakes made because of a man –laughs- and I had no idea at this point I was gay…  I really didn’t… He had so much potential to get me into so much trouble – I had so much potential to get myself into trouble realistically – and I literally dodged a bullet.

 

I finished High School in November 1990 and my results were crap – I joked for years that my results were that bad that I couldn’t even get into the University of New England – it was notorious for taking the ‘dregs’ or ‘failures’ from school.  So I decided to repeat Grade 12 – well that was a mistake… I became rather cocky and a bit of a smartass because I was over 18.  I was told flatout that I wasn’t running that years formal committee and my help wasn’t wanted… seems high school loved me as much as I did it.  I finally got to do Maths in Society – wow!  Just wow!  It was so basic and I was seeing people struggling with it so I really didn’t know what to make of that… I lasted a term before I decided that repeating at the same school wasn’t the best idea as I was still being picked on.  In those days there was no support offered for bullying and it just got swept under the carpet – granted too I was labelled as a troublemaker – I remember getting called into the principals office as I had been caught smoking just off-school grounds – now because I was over 18, there was ‘technically’ nothing the school could do to discipline me.

To be honest I had no idea of what I was going to do with my life… I pretty much goofed off for my first year of unemployment – wealthy people call it a gap year – I call it watching daytime tv… Donahue and Sally Jesse – I have so much love for them.  I think it was those sort of trashy tv shows that started the idea forming that I was gay.  I finally got my licence in 1991 – it only took me 2 years… Dad decided that he was going to buy myself and my brother a car.  The loan Dad applied for was a car loan so the majority of the money had to be spent on one car – he didn’t agree with that so would spend days arguing on the phone with the credit union.  So I got my first car – it cost $9000 – I loved that car, I would polish that thing within an inch of it’s life.  So here was I at 128kgs squeezing myself into this tiny 1981 Honda Prelude (red[ish] of course) – I’d get the odd strange look as I heaved myself out… the other funny thing when I was growing up we had a german shepherd named Jaws – he was like 48kgs and anytime he saw my car door open he’d jump in the car… I could barely fit in the car so you’d have the dog with his head out of the sunroof and you’d have the top of my head just appearing.  I’m sure it was comical… I had 3 accidents in the car – the last one seeing the end to my poor little car.  When I had the car I started delivering pizzas for Silvio’s (which got bought out by Domino’s) and I think we were at the Christmas Party or something…. I was the designated driver at that stage (I didn’t drink believe it not) – was heading down Mt Ommaney road – aquaplaned – spun a couple of times and bye bye 1981 Honda Prelude… I still have nightmares about this… anyway this all happened down the road from the fire station so we went to get the Firies – I got my first proper ride in a fire engine – lights, sounds, everything.  One of the Firies looked at the car, looked at me “you should be dead mate” – Honda Preludes have what are referred to as clamshell bonnets and the latches don’t always hold.  The next thing you know I’m sitting in the gutter crying like a crazed banshee.  Dad did try buying me a replacement car but the credit union wasn’t having a bar of it – probably for the best…

 

So as a aside from when I bought Prelude – the dealer was also the authorised dealer for the original NSX – such a gorgeous car… anyway I had bought a wheels magazine to read on the train and it had “details” on the next generation Prelude (92 model) and as the dealers generally tend to not get told anything about upcoming models – they photocopied the article and as a thank you – they were going to let me drive the NSX to get my car. Probably one of the most nerve racking drives of my life – I’m 19 and behind the wheel of a $150k (in those days) supercar.  Now you might be thinking nerve racking – I’d take it easy… yeah you’d think so… -laughs- Anyway I just thought it was a really nice gesture.

 

So I guess this one of those things people could never figure about me – I’m a car nerd – I love cars – I have 0 mechanical aptitude, it’s took me half a day to change the sparkplugs and oil filter on my Prelude.  I’d be at the carshow every year – I have photos somewhere from the 1990 Brisbane Motorshow – they had a green BMW Z1 and I peppered the folks with questions about it – it didn’t take me long to work out that people working motorshows are just salespeople and will generally just tend to humour teenagers.

 

I guess I just found the automotive industry interesting for a logistical perspective, why they made the choices they made for different markets so I guess the marketing perspective and I developed a skill that I could pretty much recognise any car – really one of the worlds most useful skills to have…

 

I remember that I had this interview (absolutely no idea what it was for – it’s 30 years ago… Christ) and the person interviewing me basically said that because my results were such a mixed bag and my artistic portfolio was a bit childish (which it was – I can’t draw) – I don’t even think my school had a camera… how much different would my life have been if they did… Anyway she said because of my high school results I needed to look at further education and she did actually suggest TAFE (community/technical college) as a means of improving myself and giving me a point of difference in the job market.  As I had missed the cut-off for full-time admission I ended up enrolling in a couple of night classes Accounting and Economics.  Yes… indeed… IT’S NOT LIKE EITHER OF THESE SUBJECTS ARE MATH BASED!!!!  So I became part-time student at TAFE… not that 2 subjects helped my any BUT anyway…

 

So I totalled my car and you’d think I’d be unemployed again… you’d think – my managers actually liked me.  So I went from delivery to pizza making – honestly to any vegetarians that got ham on their pizza – I am really, really sorry but when you are flat out and using vegies that also get used for meat pizzas…

 

Oh I forgot about the time I left school in Grade 10 – I got a job selling alarm systems door to door in Browns Plains… I think for the two weeks I had the job I sold nada – zip – zero… $1500 for an alarm that just sits in a corner in a brand low-socio-economic area.  Not one of my better ideas.  Anyway one night after work we ended up someone’s house in Indooroopilly – I was 15 – so we’re having a few beers and bucket bongs.  From what I’ve discovered bucket bongs seem to be almost just a Queensland thing.  Anyway I was massively wasted and I did kind of sort of live across the river from Indooroopilly so I decided to walk home – I was literally stoned out of my gourd… small tip don’t walk across a bridge stoned – you’ll thank me.

 

I also moved out of home for the first time… -cue dramatic music- and that leads into the young me coming out –gasp- YOU MEAN YOU’RE GAY?!?!?!

My high school years....

 Yeah - High School for a young gay from a broken home… YAY!!!

It was funny when I was in primary school I was the first person (well not first because there was my brother) from a broken home – I get to high school and divorces are becoming more common – thank you for the quickie divorce legislation Australia!

 

I really don’t know how to describe my time at high school apart from crap, crap and more crap.  I found high school a new version of hell – I was expected to be as funny or as a popular as my brother.  By the time I hit high school I was already a fat bookish nerd – I wasn’t doing any sports or any physical activity – so yeah I was fat… and tall… and (let’s be honest) I was showing (HA!) signs of being rather effeminate.  Pretty much during the stages of high school I lost my accent – so that was one less thing I could be picked on for.  The first couple of years though – jesus!  I think you never realise just how nasty kids or teenagers are.  I was constantly bullied, I was constantly picked on by both boys and girls – I took so much time off school – I think in Grade 12 in Semester one I took 31 days off and in Semester 2 I took 23 days off.  YAY ME!!!  I was suspended twice – both times for fighting.  There’s still a part of me that feels terrible about this – I got into a “fight” with a girl – she dared me, she said if she could kick me between the legs – I could her between the legs.  So she did and I did… there are some advantages to being the youngest boy where you and brother fight all the time.  I knew how take a beating… so I got suspended for three days.  Dad rang the school as he felt it was sexist and that I was provoked the girl in question should also get suspended.  Suffice it to say my suspension was lifted.  Of course she didn’t get suspended but anyway.

 

I got into more fights than I would expected – I think I had this unrealistic expectation of High School being something other than it was for me.  I got picked on for being fat, I got picked on for being gay, I got picked for being tall, I got picked for spending my lunchtimes in the library reading, I got picked on for being a D&D nerd (yes I played Dungeons and Dragons…), I got picked on for breathing.  Pretty much anything you can think you can pick on someone for that was me…

 

I actually literally gave up – for me personally I didn’t know what I was going through – I was having other people apply labels to me.  I tried dating girls to see if that would ‘fix’ my attraction to men.  I was fooling around with a friend at that point, which just complicated matters even further.  I didn’t even realise what gay was (WELLL I’VE MADE UP FOR THAT!!!!!).  Yet I’ve got people yelling f*cking faggot at me, ya f*cking poof, ya gay c*nt – now when I was younger I had a lot of issues with profanity (oh fancy word) – the c bomb still makes me cringe.  I actually got into a couple of fights over this (not the c word) – it was the first time that I had a rage blackout or what I prefer to call berserker mode.  I got into a fight with 3 people and I won.  I got suspended for 3 days because of it.

 

I was shoved through or tripped through two windows all because someone thought I was ‘gay’ or because they thought it was funny.  So I have two scars from the meatheads I went to school with.  Dad was asked to replace the windows and he said no – I was asked if it was my fault and of course it’s not… anyway…

 

I got called in to see the school counsellor one day because ‘apparently’ the school was concerned about my not showing up and me falling asleep in my maths class… I was falling asleep in my maths class because for the days I had double maths (Wednesday from memory) I’d be watching Elvira’s thriller theatre the night before and we both accepted that I don’t have a calculus or algebra bent – I’m intelligent – I’m not that intelligent.  So I had asked my guidance counsellor a couple of times and my maths teacher had asker her as well if I could move to a less advanced maths class – as we used to call it “maths in space” – I would legitimately walk into my maths class and go sleep in the back corner – my teacher and I were both cool with this.

 

Funny story though – I did my senior year in 1990 so pretty much my school was as white could be.  We had these uber-competitive southern Indians arrive and they HAD to be at the top of everything.  This was the usual thing for me doing exams – I’d get the paper from the maths teacher – “it’s ok – go up the back corner and sleep – I don’t mind.”  I’d still have a flick through the paper and there was a question I could do… so I did the question – I lost one mark because I missed a step.  The South Indians had a hissy fit and accused me of cheating – I can understand why – I would have too – the person who’s the worst at algebra and calculus becomes the only person who could answer a question –laughs- So because of the cheating allegation I had to go see the maths mistress and redo the question… WELL… I missed the exact same step and I still got the correct solution… My maths mistress was dumbfounded because she couldn’t see the intuitive leap I was taking.   I had to repeat the exercise a few times… to be honest I was starting to feel like a performing monkey… Here Michael equation – solve & go!!!  I’m not a particularly competitive person – I am however a petty person –laughs- I may have rubbed in the fact that I did better than they did… 

 

My guidance counsellor was a bitch.  She would tell attractive girls to marry for money or else find a job as a checkout chick.  She and I clashed.  As far she was concerned I was never going to amount to anything – I was too smart for my good (mouthy), I was lazy (which is true) – I would never get into University (I proved her wrong – that will come up later).  I should just take whatever job comes my way – I finished school in the recession we had to have and I will be 100% totally honest – I am not a blue collar person.  I mean for fucks sake I started a fire in a metal workshop when I was in prison because that’s what I do… I can weld though!  Badly but I can!!!  I will be honest and admit that NEVER in my entire life did I think I’d be able to weld…. 

 

So back to school – I will keep this relatively brief because let’s face high school isn’t fun for most people…

-       The ESL (English as a second language) teacher was chasing me for the entire time I was at  school because I was a “migrant’ and she had a hard believing that my English was as good as it was.  I read a book every couple of days…. English was one of my best subjects at school – apparently this was all based that my brother had found a loophole for getting an easy mark or a free period.   I did point out that my English skills were better than most native speakers (I’m Dutch – I’m prone to be arrogant at times)

-       The 400m run… I am sure this was going to kill me… I came 4^th fastest out of the grade I think it was 10 or 11– yay for the fat gay guy… I had the PE master tell me that he was surprised that I ran as fast as I did, I was surprised I was still alive… and then of course that was followed by the humiliation (after I got my breath back after what felt like an hour – I almost threw up)

 

I think part of the problem for me was that I didn’t know ‘gay’ was – I didn’t meet my first openly gay guy until I was 16 and that was starting to put things into place for me.  I think Dad realised what I was and he sent to spend a week with friends of his in Maitland (one of who had a gay brother) so I could see what gay people were like and that to be honest they are no different from anyone else.  It really is quite funny to realise the lengths that your parents go to.  This was when I was 16 (so would have been 1988).  To be honest afterwards I still wasn’t 100% clear on what gay was but I knew they were no different to anyone else.

 

Oh and there was the time that people found out my middle name was Rene… yes that’s a resounding memory.  “Oh you’ve got a girls name….”  Which then tied into the whole gay thing – only faggots have girls names.  Queensland in the 1980s was a horrible place to grow up and I am pretty sure that I am not the first gay to have said that.

I can’t even begin to detail how much I dreaded going to school everyday – beyond the fears of getting caught for smoking or smoking pot – I was worried about getting beaten up, I’ll be the first person to admit I have a VERY smart mouth (this does also get me into trouble later in life!) and that did lead me into trouble more than once at high school.

 

I did drama from grade 8 to 11 – I had a massive fit when a Senior was selected to do play ‘my’ role in the innocent instruments of darkness – it’s actually a really good play it’s set in the ‘background’ of Macbeth – good lord over 30 years on – I still sound like a drama nerd –laughs- So anyway for this competition thing – I was taken from one of the lead roles to one that had two lines.  I was seriously not impressed and I may have had a weenie bit of a hissy fit… I think from memory I may have screamed at the drama teacher and told him where to shove the role… I think that was after they asked me to help my replacement learn the lines…

 

I was obviously deeply unpopular in High School – the point where my unpopularity led me to try to take my own life a few times – yay adolescence… so I think in part of combating that I decided to join (well pretty much ran) the formal committee (it’s like our version of a prom) and ended up having the post-formal at home – I may have neglected to mention to our neighbours that was possibly going to be in excess of 200 drunk under-age drinkers at our house.  I was not very popular for a while… then again the police only came out three times so I wasn’t doing too bad!

 

Mind you my tux was awful… I tried to match the green to my dates dress and I decided that a sparkly bolero jacket was a good idea… yeah… that –laughs- and my hair looked awful – when the colour was originally done it looked legitimately like my head had been dunked in a bucket of blood… I had read Carrie multiple times but this stage so I was starting to see the similarities… yeah… then there was the whole lack of trust of me towards to my schoolmates.  I guess this one of the things that really bothered me about high school – I was constantly ‘on guard’ for fear of the next beating or the next fight.

 

I will admit I turned into a pretty shitty student – I was smoking on school grounds, when we had to do social sport – I’d be on a golf course somewhere or a ten pin bowling lane smoking, smoking pot or getting drunk.  I think it was the first time in my life I just didn’t care.  My home environment was shit – Dad was constantly drunk.  My brother (if he was home) and I constantly fought – the house was a pigsty – you could scrape up the dog hair from the carpet.  There was the night I was going to the toilet in the middle of the night and I stood on a yabbie that had managed to get out of one of the tanks (we always had tanks when I was growing up) – I screamed like I was in a horror movie!!!  Poor Dad! – then there was the moray eel that got out of the tanks when my brother was importing fish from the Philippines that bit me (I then lost it) when I was trying to get it back in the tank.  There would literally be dishes piled high in the sink that had “things” growing on them.  We were a household of slobs – I think it’s one of the reasons why I am somewhat lazy as a cleaner now.  Dad who had been absent before after Mum left became even more absent – I think it’s fair to say that Mum leaving broke him – he grew up in a time and era where divorce didn’t happen.

 

I will be honest at this point and say that my room was feral.  I had paths in paper, notes, toys so I could get to my bed, my desk and obviously out!  I don’t want y’all to think that Dad was horrible – he dealt with what life dealt him as he could – I will admit I wasn’t an easy child to raise – I’d have moments where I was a brat, I was rebelling without making it look like I was rebelling.  I fired a sawn-off shotgun under the house and I said that I was trying to start the mower… All Dad asked me was why trying to start the mower under the house.   There is way more to this story but I need to check to see if I can tell it…  We’ll get back to this (it relates to my first crush with a bad boy).

 

Then there was the grass fire… WOAH! The house I grew up in had a whole bunch of council land behind that was nothing but grass… it probably easily a couple of acres – I was hanging out with a friend lit a cigarette and I didn’t realise that the match wasn’t out… yeah… -poof- next thing you know flames everywhere, we’re heading for home, I think it was 4 fire trucks… later that night the fire-fighters and police were door knocking to see if anyone knew anything… yowza huh?!?!?  Even after this I have been a smoker for most of my life – you would have thought this would have taught me something…

I will be honest I have debated about publishing this as it includes more than just me.  I have decided to post it as this is my story as I remember it.  My memory isn't perfect and I am sure that other people's version of events will differ from mine.

This has been such an almost defining thing in my life.  Dad downplayed it in a lot of ways – Mother denies that it ever happened – my brother admitted to setting me up for beatings.  I loved Mum, I really loved Mum, she was purely and simply a bitch – I didn’t think she could do any wrong and the number of times she nearly hospitalised either myself or my brother.  I had a cousin tell me that they knew that my mother was a ‘hard’ woman.  I may have mentioned before that mother never wanted children – I think in hindsight and to be honest – she was so young, she was 18 when she had my brother and 20 when she had me.  There’s a 13 year difference between her and her nearest sibling.  While Oma was relatively warm to us – I can imagine she was quite hard with mother – namely as mother was an unplanned baby.  I’m not excusing mother’s behaviour – she made my life a living hell.  I loved my mother – I was her baby boy and for those with a passing interest in psychology – mother was my primary parent.  Dad and I never seemed to quite click – I think probably because I was too ‘fey’ – I was airy fairy, artistic, preferred reading over sport or mechanical pursuits (mind you I pulled so much shit apart when I was a kid because I wanted to know how it worked – I don’t think I ever worked most of it out), I was dramatic (surprising no one probably I developed an interest in drama in high school).  My Grade 12 Mistress wrote a note to me saying that she didn’t remember much about me apart from my clear love of performing… YASSSS KWEEEN DRAMA QUEEN IN THE MAKING!!! I really have nothing to add to this apart from the fact that I thought it was appropriate. 

My childhood was weird.  I seemed to be in this weird in-between place of fearing of what my mother would do to me and trying to be a child.  There was the part of me that obviously sought the approval of my mother – she mattered and her opinion of me mattered.  Yes well… I maybe should have made wiser choices in my early years.

 

Now I had the thought before that there’s always two sides to every story and the truth lies somewhere between the two.  My brother and I have never spoken about the abuse that we went through – I know he was abused and he knows I was abused.  He apologised to me before I moved to the US for setting me up for beatings.  He knew he could do no wrong and that my credibility would be questioned – I won’t go into details because some of what I went through was horrific.  I remember Mum once telling me that she never wanted children and it was like things fell into place – she didn’t want us, she only had kids because she thought that was what Dad wanted.  Before Mum left, her and Dad were trying for a third child – there is a part of me that is so thankful that never happened.

 

I asked Mum about us being abused in 2009 and she denied every single it – as far as she was concerned it never happened.  She tried to paint it that she was the victim and she was the one that had been threatened with “being killed” by Dad if she took us boys… now my father was probably the nicest man you’d ever meet – the mere idea of this would be so out character.

 

I repressed that I was abused – it’s not something ‘my mother’ would ever do.  It became such a massive psychological issue for me as you could well imagine and eventually it’s just going to go to hell or you end up in hell.  So I ended up in hell – I was smoking, drinking and started doing pot.

 

I’ll give a couple of examples:

-       I’d be sent to bed without dinner, this actually happened fairly regularly.  Dad used to sneak in when he found that I'd been sent to bed without food with something for me to eat.

-       Our first summer in Australia,  I had done something ‘wrong’ and Mum strangled me – she used that much force that her nails broke my skin and I had to wear a turtleneck sweater for 2 weeks until the wounds and bruises healed… in Queensland… in Summer

-       We lived in fear of the matte klappe – it’s a cane carpet duster that we’d get spanked with on the arse or the back of the legs.

-       I was running through the house one day chasing my brother – Mum held her fist out and the next thing you know, I’m on the floor.  And I got a black eye.  From what I was told by Dad – this was one of the times the school rang home – “boys will be boys.”

 

I get that in part Mum was a product of her generation – she was an unwanted child and from what I understand my grandparents were hard people.  They were products of the depression and the second world war.  I still think Mum used marriage as a means of escaping her parents – I don’t know if she was abused – I don’t know – a part me goes I think she was as abuse begets abuse and then a part of me just goes she was in a situation she didn’t want to be in so she made my and my brother’s life hell.

 

So I ended up as a gay man with mother issues!  I actually made a joke with my trauma psychologist before I went to prison that I could blame a lot of my problems (particularly my CPTSD) on my childhood… a gay man with bona fide mummy issues.  I’m not 100% certain she shared my sense of humour on that one!

the early years in Australia…

I’m sitting here on my bed trying to work out how much do I want to share?   The early years in Australia were hard for so many reasons.  Heat, toads, cockroaches, rugby league, tennis, swimming, judo, funnel web spiders, humidity, humidity and more humidity…

 

I think at 8 years old (I was 7 and a half) you have on concept of how ordinary or disgusting the weather in South East Queensland can be – I still hate it now.  I despise summer in Brisbane or South East Queensland – it’s just gross.  You get out of the shower, oh I’m clean, 5 seconds later you are covered in a sheen of a sweat again…

 

I guess it’s probably better that I am writing this now when I am in a better place with mother (I still haven’t reached out to her as there is just so much hurt and damage – I would dare say from both sides).

 

So memories from my early years in Australia..
When we first migrated in 1980 – we were told that we were only to speak English – we would not speak Dutch.  Now of course this was a bit of a struggle, new country, new environment and we have to ask for things in English…. Yikes!  I’ve always been the more book smart one – so it took me six weeks or thereabouts to ask for chocolate.  A boy needs his chocolate.  I remember mum telling me that wasn’t particularly impressed that one of the first questions I asked her was if I could have some chocolate.

 

I will be honest and admit that my memories of my childhood are pretty terrible.  These are my memories though – the truth could be something entirely different.  I’m the youngest son in a somewhat traditional European family.  I was nowhere near as important as my brother because he was number one and the golden child.  I’ve been told that his view on things was different and he was told that he had to look out for me because I was the youngest.  At the end of the day these are my ramblings and my recollections.

We went from winter in the Netherlands to summer in Australia (I have very vague memories of getting on the plane when it was snowing)… and let me tell you (I can remember to this day) it was HOT!!! The Netherlands gets nowhere near as hot as what Brisbane does in summer.  I remember getting grief in winter because I would go to school in shorts and a t-shirt in our first winter because I hadn’t acclimatised yet.  That was one of the first instances of bullying – I got called windmill because I was Dutch and that point I had a very strong Dutch accent.  This was pretty much the point in my life where I started to become an introvert and keep to myself a lot – I learnt that if I didn’t talk to people, I wouldn’t get made fun of.  I suppose in a lot of ways when I look at it now – it is what started to define me through my whole life, I’ve always been quite, introverted, introspective.  Once I get to know people – I’ll open up – that’s a whole series of different chapters and ties in my trashbag days…

When we started school in Australia – they didn’t quite know where to put me.  1^st Grade on the Netherlands is nothing like Grade 1 in Australia.  I was an intelligent child (and maybe just a bit too smart for my own good) so I lasted in Grade 1 at Oxley State School for all of a day.  I got bumped up to Grade 2 which I did better with it was a bit more challenging – still just a tad too easy.  Then we had a little issue – I got moved up to Grade 3 and for reasons known only to the school – they put me in the same class as my brother because that was a recipe BOUND for success.  It’s pretty clear that my brother wasn’t a fan of the idea… it didn’t really work out for either of us as I would get grief from him at home.  I think he felt that I was showing him up and I was just doing what I thought I was supposed to be doing (again probably one of the hallmarks of my life).  So Mum had a conversation with the school and I got moved back to Grade 2.  Our time at Oxley was very short and then we moved to Graceville.

 

I’d love to say I had a happy childhood – I didn’t.  Even I realise now with the wonderful power of hindsight – it was crap.  There was emotional abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse.  I lived in fear of my mother.  My father was emotionally distant because let’s face it he was old school European – it was Mum’s job to look after us.  Mum never wanted kids and she made sure we knew that.  Then you get into the dynamic between my brother and myself – we were played against each other, so probably just normal family stuff with a touch violence thrown in.

I’m not going to detail what exactly happened as that becomes a “he said, she said” type of thing.  Mother has already denied there was ever any abuse.  My and my brother’s recollection is completely difference and as someone very thankfully pointed out – this was 40+ plus something years ago – you’d think I would have dealt with it by now… yes you’d think… you’d think that I would be able to magically wave a wand and be ‘normal’ – there were so many times in my childhood and adulthood where I was I was normal.  It is so incredibly hard growing up knowing that somehow you are flawed, that there is something broken in you.  I was diagnosed with Complex PTSD before I went to prison (that story will come in due course) and Complex PTSD generally has it roots deep in someone’s upbringing or childhood trauma.  I’m getting a bit off-topic – I’m going with the flow though – as was pointed out to me – my brother and I had the same upbringing and he never seems to be looking for excuses as to why his (mine) life is so crap – he just gets on with it.  Now for anyone who’s a sibling – you know you’re upbringing isn’t the same.  We have very different views of how we grew up – his take on it from what I understand is that he was to keep an eye out for me because I was a little “artsy fartsy” and that I needed his protection.  The way I saw it and it’s probably easiest summed up this – all I could ever see what that he could do no wrong – both my parents thought he was perfect.

 

Being as we grew up in the 80s – I’d rock up to school with a visible bruise – not an uncommon experience.  The school would ring periodically and mention that I had shown up with a black eye.  Mum’s response was always “oh you know boys will be boys.”  In the 80s that’s how it was child abuse got swept under the carpet – it was never investigated.  I know this would be way different now… way, way different – which can only be a good thing in my opinion.

So yes I was a child of the 80s… that was banned from watching cartoons.  I was a “sporty” child – not by any choice.  I was made to.  It’s funny I have seen parents that over-scheduled their kids in this day and age… yeah… summer – we had swimming lessons 5 days a week and carnivals on Saturday.  We had judo twice a week – I think from memory it was Tuesday and Thursday.  Then we had cricket one night a week and matches on Saturday afternoons.  I really, really, really don’t understand the point behind cricket – so as you can imagine I got put in the outfield because I couldn’t bat or bowl.  I basically begged to not have to go cricket because of my love of the sport and the fact that other kids would pick on me because of my prowess… it hated it and I was awful at it – seemed like a good enough reason to me. 

 

Now a story about the swimming – I was good, I enjoyed it and I was put into the morning squad with older kids because I went from doing 15m butterfly to 50m butterfly  in pretty quick order – a couple of weeks I think.  From what I was told when I joined the morning squad my brother had a few issues with me being there.  It also had something to do with the fact that I was falling asleep in class – we’d be in the pool by 7 and out at 8:30.  So the next thing you know – I’m in a training squad of 1 in the afternoons – I was in the pool every afternoon for 5 days and I blitzed!!!  I was 9 years old and I was swimming high school kids and I was trouncing them.  I can’t remember who told me – apparently Mum and Dad were approached by Hayley Lewis’s coach about me joining his squad.  When Mum found out what time they started and the commitment required from them – she basically laughed and very politely said no way in hell.  So winter we had judo, tennis twice a week and rugby league – I was made the fullback as it was felt that was where I could do the least damage – it seems that rugby was just another one of those sports I had a natural affinity to fail at.  I’d get so bored I’d walk up the other end of the field to chat to their fullback… that apparently is not the done thing.  Once Mum left so did my interest in sport – I never wanted to do any of these things (apart from swimming – 5 days a week was a bit much though).  Once I started leaving sports – I also left swimming and that may have had to do with my weight gain and my shame about my weight gain.

 

So I guess we get to one of the defining moments of my life.  It was 1983 and I was 10 years old.  Now we were never meant to get out bed before 7:30 or risk the anger of Mother.  I woke up on this day because I felt something wasn’t right – Dad had already left for work – I walked into Mum and Dad’s room and Mum was packing a bag.  I asked her where she was going and she said she was going on a holiday – I asked if I could come and she said “no – this is just for me.”  I accepted that – I was raised to not question my authority figures – I was a very polite child.  So my brother and I went to school.  We got home and Dad was sitting on a dining chair with his head in his hands.  I may have done of the nastiest things I have ever done – I asked Dad where Mum was – he just said “gone” and broke down.  I have never seen someone as broken (apart from maybe myself) as my father on that day.  I don’t think it was really until I was an adult that I realised just how much Mother leaving him destroyed him.  I don’t think he ever expected that he’d end up in a situation where all of a sudden he had two pre-teen boys to raise.  We weren’t easy to raise – I can’t really speak for my brother – there were so many times I gave Dad hell.  I blamed him for Mum leaving and again it took me a long time to realise that – I think that happened when I reached my own conclusions about my mother – that’s all later on too.  I think one of the first things Dad said to me was that I could start watching cartoons now – and there began my life-long love with cartoons, anime, comics, popculture.

 

I joked for years (before realising that I was using humour/sarcasm as a defence mechanism) that Mum and Dad’s breakup was a suburban middle-class drama – “she ran away with the man from the across the street.”

 

I think hindsight makes things a bit easier too – Dad tried the hardest he could with the limited toolbox he had which wasn’t much.  I always used to joke that he managed to raise two children to adulthood without either of them being maimed or going to prison… well ok 1 out of 2.  He managed to work full-time, provided for us as best he could, the house was always a pigsty – it’s not like we did anything to help with that.  I think there was (at least from me) a certain element of entitlement.   The man couldn’t cook and I think because of the amount of drinking he had done in his life his sense of taste was seriously, seriously off.   Our weekly grocery shop before he lost his licence used to pretty much consist of 21 packets of pasta & sauce…

 

Dad had a massive drinking problem – I think it was there before Mum left, it got so much worse after she did.  I could never understand why at the time.  After my various self-destructive spirals I do – he was an incredibly wounded man who was raised in a culture where it was not ok to ask for help.  And being Dutch the man was incredibly stubborn – incredibly stubborn!  He did honestly try his best though and I know that now – I only wish I realised that before he passed away – I owe the man a massive apology

 

From my perspective I alternatively blamed Dad or myself for Mum leaving.  Of course we (my brother and I) had to deal with the fall out of the split/divorce – we were the first kids at our school to go through a divorce and being the 1980s… The mother left her kids!!!  That was virtually unheard of – of course my parents have their own sides to this story – I never really got Dad’s as I wasn’t interested and being the man he was he would never bag Mother in front of me or to me.  I think I realised a little too late how good a man my father actually was.  Mother told me hers and it doesn’t compute with the man my father was.  Apparently he threatened to kill her if she took his boys away.  At that time and during my teen years I would never have believed that because I didn’t think I was held in the same esteem as my brother.

I look back at this time of my life and I all I see is misery and pain.  We were such a wounded family.  It took me a while to realise that one of the reasons why Mum and Dad dragged us more than halfway around the world was an attempt to save their marriage.  That was a total resounding success wasn’t it?  At a later point in my life Mother asked me if I had any happy memories of childhood.  At that point when she asked me because of my own pain and my own wounds – I didn’t – every single thing I thought involving my family just involved anger and hurt.  I think it’s pretty clear at this point that my CPTSD is due to the divorce.  When I was in jail – I watched the smurfs movie… I realise this seems a little bit tragic – I had a memory of Mum getting a clumsy smurf figurine from the BP close to home.  Why clumsy?  Oh god!  I am more than well known and have been for my entire life for being a klutz,  I fall down stairs, I fall upstairs (this is a talent!), I trip over my own feet, I walked into windows thinking they were doors… you name it – chances are I’ve done it.

 

I was a reader – I actually remember getting into trouble for this.  Mum used to kick us outside to get some ‘fresh air’ – I used to throw whatever book I was reading out of the window so I could sit behind a tree and read the book rather than… I have no idea of what I was supposed to do… run around in circles in the prickles?  Although I will admit this is a bit of a twisted memory and it does make me kind of laugh.  So we used to have to read a certain number of chapters a night.  Mum had no interest in whatever we were supposed to read (I don’t blame her) and because I had a very advanced reading age… I was reading Jackie Collins to her.  Asking her to explain some of the more adult sequences resulted in a “ask your father when you’re older.”

 

This then ties into one of my favourite memories of Dad.  Dad had lost his licence due to drink driving (you’d think I would have picked up on a lesson there) and we were members of the local council library – so because back in that day in the 80s – even if you have a kids membership you had to have an adult present – Dad and I got on our bikes and rode to library so I could get the wizard of oz books out… I was 11 at this point… again people were surprised when I came out as gay.  I give Dad a lot of credit because he’d been on nightshift – he got a couple of hours sleep and then he and I went to the library.

 

One other thing that Dad did for me.  I can’t quite remember how Smokey came to be or the reasons why we did it.  Smokey was my cat, he was such a beautiful boy.  He really was – he was an awesome cat!  So anyway Dad had done another nightshift – got up – and we rode to Wacol from Graceville.  I got myself the kitten that was actually the least interested in me and he became my best friend for a long time.  I have a thing for ginger cats – I called him Smokey because someone we knew had lost their cat who was grey a couple of days beforehand.  There ended up being the past of me that just dug the fact that I had a ginger cat called Smokey and people were like wtf?!?  Although that poor little kitten was in my backpack from Wacol to Graceville.

 

Wacol will also feature very prominently later in life….

I’m going to end this here – otherwise it will become a blow by blow and a very long drawn out this is the shit happened to me when I was in Primary School.