Happy Birthday….mum


I realised today that it was my mum’s birthday.  I think everyone who knows me knows that my mother and I just don’t speak.   She hates me because I speak truth she doesn’t want to hear.  I despise her because she didn’t protect me or give me the kind of upbringing she should have.

So whose at fault you ask?  Not me.  I didn’t ask to be a built in babysitter, a punching bag or a victim at the hands of either of my parents..  So I guess that answers that question doesn’t it?

I was lying in bed at midnight tonight and against all hope I couldn’t for the life of me sleep. Between car accidents, new relationships, moving houses and the rest of it (that’s all coming later, so patience grasshoppers) I haven’t blogged in THREE YEARS. But tonight my Greater Mind had a different idea.  I tossed and turned and in my head, I formulated the perfect blog post.  I’ve been out here on our balcony listening to the waves and watching the words float OUT of my head into the bloody ethos since 1.30am.

It’s now 5.07am.  Thanks Greater Mind and thank you mercury in retrograde (for the record?  Girl?  You’ve got to go).

Seriously?  It’s not enough that her birthday disturbs my sleep? To top it off the perfect post disappeared to.  Cheers mum!

This won’t be a complete post this morning because there is way to much swirling around that it would take me hours to formulate it into a post,

So what’s brought on THIS post Lisa you say?

Demi Moore.

For the last little while I’ve been reading her autobiography with a highlighter and post it notes, because SO much of it resonates with me.  WAY to much.  Obviously not the rich, famous, gorgeous movie star type.  But her childhood, her lack of love from her mother,  the way she wasn’t allowed to be a typical childhood, how it impacted on her adult life and her parenting skills with her own children.

Then I saw an episode of Red Table Talk with Jada Pinkett Smith, her mother and daughter, Demi Moore and her daughters.  It was TOUGH to watch.  Really tough.  Because every layer they peeled back, every page they turned and the deeper into things they went?  The more my shit floated to the top.  The more it made me uncomfortable, the more I watched and the more I started to understand SOME of the choices I had made in my life.  As a teenager, an adult, a daughter, a mother and a human in general.  It was like I’d been sitting in a dark room for the longest time and someone had finally turned on the light and BOOM the six million puzzle pieces that had been scattered around me, were suddenly starting to make sense.  At it just so happened to take place on my mothers birthday,

I’m a HUGE believer in the universe guiding me and THIS is the sign I’d waiting for.

More later…..

Truth Be Told


It’s 2.18am on a Thursday morning in Australia. It’s windy, warm and mercury in retrograde is still working her special kind of magic.

Truth be told? I should be sleeping because I have an early morning. But Lady Universe and the Goddesses have other ideas. So I’m sitting on my balcony, listening to the waves and undertaking something that is truthfully, something I’ve wanted to do for the longest time. But didn’t have the guts too.

So lets begin shall we?

I’ve changed the name of the blog. I’m NOT D`Anerah and I haven’t ever truly been for a good fifteen years. THAT girl, was so full of shit her eyes should have been brown. She was an escape, a place to hide that gave me free reign to bullshit to my hearts content. A place where nobody would question what I said, because they were too entwined in the great love I talked about the and lies I managed to weave into the tiny bit of truth I posted. I’m Lisa. I’m no more perfect or imperfect than anyone else. So D’Anerah is gone and the REAL me is here.

Beauty in the breakdown is also gone. There was ZERO beauty in my breakdown. But it sounded SOOOO dramatic and Mill’s and Boon like didn’t it? Yeah no. It wasn’t, so it had to go also. The Wounded Warrior is me. It’s a long story to explain why its became that, but if you stick around long enough, you’ll understand why.

“Well, maybe if I am totally truthful with myself, it evokes emotions I have long since hidden away and chosen not to think about. Because its simply too hard and much, much too painful”

Lets look at that paragraph above. A lot of my life I HAVE hidden away I have hidden away because it was painful and much to hard to deal with. Because a huge part of my life, has, been a lie. I carefully coloured in the bad parts I didn’t want people to know and made them seem perfect. I highlighted the good parts and made them seem even shinier than they were. Because that’s what I thought people wanted. I thought that was what would make people like me. Because I was so full of self loathing and hatred that I figured if my life seemed so shiny and perfect then people would like me.

And I’d be happy.


Nope. If anything it made me despise myself more and made things worse. People did, in fact, like me. Not because of my shiny, glittery, perfect life but because I was me. Flaws and all. I’ve lost friends in the process, because eventually the shine wore off the story and the truth came shining through like headlights on the highway. They didn’t leave because my life wasn’t shiny. They left because my lies were too much for them to forgive. And that I can understand. Some I am close friends with again, because they have gotten to know the real me and they love me that way. And for that I am eternally grateful.

A lot of the old posts that were on here will be either deleted or edited. Because they simply aren’t totally truthful or they just don’t need to be here.

It’s time to start my story again from the place I’m in now. There will be lots of posts about my past, including my childhood, some will be good and some, well I can’t promise they won’t make you uncomfortable but I can promise they’ll be truthful.

Music Soothes The Savage Beast…


I know we had no money…but I was as rich as I could be…in my coat of many colours…my mama made for me…

Music soothes the savage beast or so they say….

I find, in me, it evokes emotions I had long since forgotten.

Well, maybe if I am totally truthful with myself, it evokes emotions I have long since hidden away and chosen not to think about. Because its simply too hard and much, much too painful.

Music and writing have always been my escape in life. Ever since school. When other kids around me excelled in maths and cooking? I excelled at english, drama and music. Imagine my mothers shock and (I must grudgingly say) admiration when she heard me sing for the first time. Then when she found out I could play not only the flute but also the piano she was stunned. As was my father. And the kicker was that I could write as well.

I wasn’t stupid. I was just creative. But I had no outlet for it. Until I met a music teacher at my school who encouraged me and taught me to overcome my shyness. Yep, me shy. Whoever would have thunk it eh?

I think harshly of my parents for what they’ve put me through as an adult. But when they found out that I was creative, they did all they could to foster that talent. My mother worked extra hours so that I could not only have flute lessons, AND voice lessons. All which paid off. I only wish now, even that we are estranged and I dislike her for her choices when I was older, that I could thank her for her sacrifices.

Seeing your arthritic 40 something year old mother coming home from work at midnight and getting up again at 6am to go back to work, so *I* could have the chance to learn and craft my talents is quite humbling to remember now at my age. I know she thought we never saw or knew how tired or worn out she was. But we did, but we were kids and we knew no different. If I had that time over? I’d have been more grateful.

So even though she’ll never see this or read it.

So whats brought about this post LJ, I hear you all ask?

As I said, music evokes emotions and memories in that I have buried and chosen not to think about. Over the years a lot of my music collection has gone missing. But lately due to the wonderful world of iTunes, I’ve been able to get it back. So today, I’ve been wandering down memory lane.

Each and every song that I have listened to today has a memory that has stayed with me from the moment I first heard it, up until right this very moment as i write this post.

Some are free and happy memories. Many are dark and twisted. Some make my cry. Others just break my heart.

And that’s where we are right now…

Waltz for Bella is a beautiful instrumental piece by Hennie Bekker. It brings me to tears every time. Its so strong and stirring and it reminds me of when I was in a place where I felt was alone and had nobody by my side. I listened to this song every night. It was the song that put me to sleep. And to listen to it now, I see a multitude of memories of my girls growing up and of some good times in my life and of course, a bundle of bad. But still, the beautiful melody draws me in with every single chord.

When You Come Back Down by Nickel Creek. It was my let go song. I was finally at a place where I was ready to let go of the person who had been my support network for the longest time. “And I’ll be on the other end…to hear you when you call…angel, you were born to fly…if you get too high….I’ll catch you when you fall”. I felt like a newborn who was about to take her first steps and I did and I never looked back. Well, not for a long time. And when I finally did, it was too late. Our friendship was done and I regret letting it go. So again, another song that makes me melancholy and fills me with emotions that I don’t quite understand.

So I’m sitting here in my little sanctuary, listening to the soundtrack of my life and trying to piece together the fragmented memories of what I do remember. Be it good or be it bad. If I can remember it, then I have a chance of dealing with it and moving past it and healing don’t I?

My dad is gone now. I never got to say goodbye before he died. I never got to go to his funeral. My family is scattered to the winds. I speak to a small handful of my cousins (and I mean a tiny handful) because they too know exactly what I feel as they have struggled with it themselves. One of them in particular (whom I won’t name without her consent) has been incredibly supportive, as has her husband and she has managed to come out of the other side of her trauma with incredible results, so I know there is hope for me.

So while my dad is gone, I can’t make my peace with him by having my say. He wouldn’t accept it anyway. So I need to find a way to reconcile it with myself. And that there is a work in progress.

But my mother.

That is a subject that eats at my heart.

More than I care to admit if I’m truthful.

Most daughters want their mothers love and approval don’t they? They all want their mothers to hug them and tell them they love them? I know my daughters do. And I do. I don’t care if its in the middle of the supermarket, if they want a hug then they can have it. My mum, as cruel as this sounds, is very emotionally closed off woman and thats not my fault. I know it isn’t. But that little girl deep inside of me wants to put a band aid on it and try to fix it.

But I cant.

Not now.

Not ever.

My mother in law (she died last year), she loved me from the moment she met me. Her son brought me home, pregnant with somebody else’s child and she didn’t care. She adopted me and when my daughter was born, that was her grandchild. To her, I was her daughter and that never changed. Even when her son and I split. Right up until she died. She loved me like her own. Even with all my faults.

Yet my own mother?

Can’t stand me.

Because I told the truth.

How I wish my mother in law was still here.

I miss her every single minute of every single day.

My mother is getting older. I know she is. Because I am. How old is my mother? I don’t know.

Ask me when her birthday is? I don’t remember if its the 20th or the 21st of November.

THAT is how far apart my mother and I have always been.

I know, that its only a matter of time, before the rumour mill contacts me and tells me that my mother has gone. And then what? Then I have no parents. I’m an orphan so to speak. I know to some people that would be a blessing in disguise.

But to me, for some fucked up reason, it strikes terror into my heart.

There is so much that I want to say to her. So much I want to know the answers to.

So much I want to thank her for. And so much I want to vent at her for.

But most of all. Even if we don’t ever make peace I just want to know that there is no hatred there.

I don’t want to know that both of my parents have left the earth while I had conflict with them.

Its going to be hard enough to know that my siblings and I don’t speak and that I won’t be able to go to her funeral, let alone knowing that she dies not knowing how I really feel about her.

Despite the fact that she didn’t defend me against my father. Despite the fact that she didn’t try to stay in her grandchildren’s lives. Despite the fact she didn’t want better for our family than she had for hers. Despite the fact that I can only find ONE photo of her and I together. Despite my anger over all of this?

I just want to sit and talk to her.

About what I don’t know yet.

But I know she’ll say no.

Because that’s just the way she is.

But right now there is nothing I can do.

Except write here.

And listen to songs from my childhood and try to remember the parts of it that were good.

And always remember to never, ever, make my children feel like I am emotionally unavailable to them. To love them and cherish them and make them know that they are the reason I breathe and smile every single minute of the day.

They say music soothes the savage beast?

Yeah right….it just confuses this one….and this is why I chose to write..

Until next time, be what you believe in..


Between Your Soul And Mine..


I’m so tired but I can’t sleep…standing on the edge of something much too deep…its funny how we feel so much but can not say a word…we’re screaming inside, but we cant be heard…but I will remember you…will you remember me…don’t let your life pass you by and weep not for the memories…



I was so afraid to love you but I was more afraid to lose.  I was clinging to a past that didn’t let me choose.  Once there was darkness, a deep and endless night and gave me everything you had.

Above everything?

You gave me light.

Here we are again.  Its exactly 4:59am on  a Wednesday morning and I’m sitting in bed listening to our favourite Sarah McLachlin song and having a conversation with your soul. Because lets face it, life in the defence force sucked ass and the time difference was never fun.  And when you had time, this was peak talk time for us. I’ve been trying to figure out for the last few days where this insane desire to write has all of a sudden come from.  And I’ve worked it out.  I kind of feel a little silly now.  Because the answer was there all along.  Right on either side of my bed side tables looking RIGHT at me as if too say “get on with it girl, what are you wasting your talent for?”  Because lets face it, you were one of my harshest critics but also my biggest supporter when it came to the words I shared with the world.

You were the very first person I ever showed my writing too and the anxiety ate me alive as you read it.  I remember wanting to do a runner while you were reading it.  And every time I tried to, your arm snaked out and held me in a death vice with a grin on your face while your read it and I just cringed.  I was determined you would hate it.  Because I did.  When you finished it.  You looked at me, shook you head and said “holy fuck little girl, what in the HELL is THAT?”  I was mortified and prayed as hard as my non religious mind would let me for a big, fat hole in the ground to swallow me up until you started to laugh and told me how much you loved it.  You were simply stunned because you’d never known I could write.  But hey, neither did I.

And so it began.  Every time you went away, I wrote you longer and longer letters and I honestly believed they kept us both sane.  Fort Dix, Fort Bragg, Afghanistan, Iraq, Germany and Afghanistan and Iraq all over again.

I miss you.

I love you.

I wish just for one second I could see you and hug you and tell you how amazing you are.  And I do mean ARE not WERE.  Because I speak to your soul all the time and I know you speak to mine.

Maybe that’s why I haven’t written for so long?  Maybe thats why my words stopped the day you went away. The day I found out you were never coming back to me.  The day I found out that every single solitary plan we had put into action was never going to happen.  We fought through battles bigger than the wars you fought to make sure that in the end we could be together.  We fought through crazy exes, illnesses, you fought through my crazy insecurities.  You stood in the middle of the desert and faced guns pointed at you and told me it was easier to do that than to battle with me.  That sure got my shit together didn’t it?

A lot of people in my world were shocked when they found out you had gone.  For a start, because they didn’t know you had even existed.  Why, I hear people ask? Because if there was one thing you taught me in the time I was blessed to have my heart in your hands, it was because it was none of their business and I finally wanted something for ME. For US.

You and I both know, that with the way my life had been.  The way my childhood was, my previous toxic relationships, my drug addictions and all the other dysfunctional bullshit it just didn’t matter.  I had found something and someone, so amazing, so precious and wonderful that I wanted to hold onto him with both hands and NEVER let him go. Let alone share him social media and the rest of the world.

I’m just sad that when I did finally get to share you with the world it was to say goodbye to you.  Nobody, except the select few who did know of you, had any idea of how crushed and destroyed I was.  But I did what I knew you would have wanted.  I smiled.  I said all the right things.  But in the late hours of the night my heart was breaking.  I sat and stared at walls.  I wanted to break things, but I didn’t. I felt like my heart had been torn out.  The pain in my chest was incredible.  It felt like you had reached right inside and torn out my heart and left a gaping hole there.

And then, and only then, did the tears start.

And they wouldn’t stop.

And I hated you.  And I felt so guilty for that hatred.  But I still hated you.

And I’m sure when this post reaches your soul you’ll read it, smile and tell me you understand that emotion and maybe you’ll answer my question?

I’ve lost so many people I loved in the last three years, but you promised me that would be the end of it.  When I lost my dad, you called me from Iraq.  Somehow you knew.  That was the strength of the connection of our souls. You KNEW something devastating had happened to me and you got me through it as best you could from the other side of the universe.  And you promised me I wouldn’t have to go through it alone again.

But I did baby, because this time you couldn’t hold my hand.  Because this time we buried you. And all I had to show for it was a folded up flag and some really pretty medals.  Don’t get me wrong, I have more than some.  I have your photos, your letters, the memories of your phone calls and the times we spent together.  But if that makes me ungrateful, then yes, I’m ungrateful.

Ungrateful.  Angry.  Frustrated.  Sad. Lonely.


Even though there’s a hole in the world where the rain gets in.

I’m healing.  And I know that’s what you’d what want.

You’d always told me I was like your very own Calamity Jane.  But I never thought I was that tough.  I always knew love had a price but I didn’t know how much it was until the day you left and while I’ll never be the same again.  I will go on.

You could have left me with a reason why.

But you didn’t.  Just a big ass fucking mess to clean up.

Not only mine, but everybody else’s.  Sometimes it sucks being the strong one and for that I blame YOU because YOU taught me to be that way. I had to be even stronger while I watched everybody sell off every single thing you owned.  And all I could do was watch them do it.  Because I didn’t have a legal leg to stand on.  I knew you wouldn’t have wanted it that way.  But I couldn’t fight your entire family.  So I salvaged what I could and those things give me comfort.

But I digress…

Lets talk…

What the FUCK were you thinking?


You. Killed. Yourself.

You took a gun.  And you shot yourself.

There.  In the house where you wanted to live with me.

I guess you know this is not coming from my heart right now?  But from the depths of my soul.  From a part of me deep inside that has been buried since they told me you had left me.

You hated even discussing suicide.  Even when it was someone you didn’t know.

Lets go back once again, to the very beginning, when my family tore apart my life by taking my children away and I couldn’t cope?  When I was in the deepest, darkest, most desperate place?  When I didn’t want to go outside the front door, let alone keep breathing.  Your words to me were “You ever think about that, and I’ll fucking kill you myself”.


You had me.  You had so many people who loved you.  Such a big family who loved you.  Such an amazing future to look forward to you.

Every day, for such a long time, you saved my life.

And then you left.

I cant even image what was going through your mind baby and as much as I am trying to come to terms with it, its slow going.  I’m still only coming to terms with you not being here. The suicide part of it is going to take me a little while longer.

Yes, I’m angry with you.  Beyond angry but I don’t profess to understand what was going through your mind.  All that war couldn’t have left you in a good place and knowing you, you would have wanted to go back and do more.  There must have been a million and one untold horrors over there that you never spoke of.

I wonder if there was something I could have done?

Probably not.

Knowing you, nothing I could have said or done, would have changed your mind.  You had already decided your time here was done.  I’m just sorry it happened before we got the chance to put the rest of our plans into action.

But I’ll never be sorry for what you brought to my life and the legacy you’ve left with me.

Thank you for coming into my life when you did.

Thank you for loving me.

Thank you for the constant love and encouragement.

Thank you for always having conversations with my soul.

And most of all – thank you for showing my the woman you saw in your eyes.

I miss you every minute of every single day.

I will love you for the rest of my days..


























Here Comes The Sun…


“Little darlin…its been a long cold lonely winter…little darlin…it feels like years since its been here…here comes the sun….here comes the sun…and I say…its all right….”


Lately I’ve been losing my shit a little. Well, that might be an understatement. A whole lot might be a more apt description You’ve probably gathered that by the way I threw my coffee table out the front door the other day in my previous post. Writing has always been a source of solace for me but I sort of lost my way for the longest time and I lost the ability to put my thoughts into words.

I found myself critiquing EVERYTHING I wrote. It wasn’t funny, romantic or interesting. It didn’t sound right or it was just plain shit. It was forced and stilted. Basically it was written because I felt I had to write it. Because I felt that everyone EXPECTED it from me. Because I expected it from myself. Because I was the girl with the God given ability and here I was wasting it by NOT writing. So I just stopped. Rather than disappoint everyone and myself. I just shut down. If I couldn’t write the way I use to.  The way I knew I could.  They way that was fantastic, flowy, angst ridden and sometimes even down right pain filled then I wasn’t going to right AT ALL.

Because we all know it has to be perfect, right?

I just stopped. Shut that part of myself away and didn’t write away for TWO. WHOLE. YEARS.

And then yesterday at 4am, I was hit with the unstoppable urge to write again. Not for any other reason than that I needed to and I wanted too. I had something I needed and wanted to say. Too me and for me. I didn’t give a shit if people read it. If they did or they didn’t like it. I didn’t give a shit about that either. This time? This is all for me.

So today, I needed some inspiration. I knew I had things I wanted to say but I just wasn’t sure what. So I decided to go to the one person who has always had the ability to open me up like a flower and draw me out with his quiet, peaceful presence. Some one I can just sit by and feel comfortable with. Someone I know will always love me, protect me, have my back and never, ever judge me.

Even though he’s not on the earth any more.

Warren was my best friend.

And I loved him then and I love him now.

He was 19 when he took his own life and he was wise beyond his years.

Yeah I know, if he was wise beyond his years LJ then why did he take his own life?

Because he had work to do somewhere else, thats why.

This world was just not big enough for a personality like him.

So I honestly believe that he is in the next life with my grandmother and my ex and the three of them are working together to sort out the mess that is my crazy life.

But anyway, this post isn’t about him.

Its about the fact that right now I am sitting here at his headstone, in the sunshine, with my laptop writing because its where I feel at total peace. Its been freezing cold in Melbourne today but the moment I got here today, he turned on the blinding warm sun for me and for that I am grateful.

So lets talk.

There is much I need to work on in my life right now. And I am not sure where I want to begin. Some of my relationships have become toxic and I am not sure if I want to try to heal them or if I should just bundle them up in a nice ribbon and say “thanks for the memories, but its time for you to go”. I have many things left unsaid with some people who have caused me pain and heartache and I often think that if I speak to them and address the issues then perhaps I can let it go and feel like they have come to an end. These are some people that played a significant part in my life and that there causes me a great deal of heart ache. Especially when I read over old emails and letters and I think about all that we went through. But then the angry girl in me comes out and says nah, fuck you, why do I owe you anything. You made your bed. Deal with it. Something that I can work on with the new psychologist my cousin has put me in touch with.

I worry lately that I am alienating myself from the world. When I look back at my old blog and I see how open and honest I was, I think wow. These days I am almost like a hermit. I had a life then. I worked. I went out. I socialised. I had friends. These days I spend most of my time in my bedroom which is my sanctuary. I don’t see many of my friends. My interactions are mostly with my daughters and my grand baby and as you know I’ve only just started to write again and as for studying? I’ve lost all faith and self confidence in myself. But I’m slowly trying to work up to it again.

Truth be told, I’ve always said I didn’t care what people thought of me and said about me. But THAT couldn’t be ANY FURTHER from the truth. I care a lot and it drives me bat shit crazy. Because I shouldn’t care. I guess its a lot to do with the issues I have with my estranged family. I’ve been made to feel like shit by them for so many years that it stuck. Add into the mix the narcissistic shit I dealt with for all those years with Michael and its a recipe for disaster. Isn’t it?

I know, I know. I made things out with Michael to be perfect. But they were polar opposite. He tormented me daily. Actually hourly. But before we set up a lynch mob. I allowed it. I put up with it because he’d been in my life for so many years that I was convinced that we were star crossed lovers. We were destined to be together. It was fate. This was Mills and Boon shit guys. This was the man who was gonna save me, when I couldn’t save myself. Nope, this was the man who was gonna beat me down daily. Until there was almost nothing left. Until I hated him. Destroying a friendship of over 20 years. Its crazy how the world works.

People say to me all the time, your so brave LJ. Brave? Me? Are you fucking kidding? I’m not brave. I’m the biggest fucking coward on the face of the earth. You have no idea? I have a chance to put the story of my crazy, fucked up, drug addled, brothel managing, chid abuse surviving life into words in a book and I HAVE NOT DONE IT. Why? Because I’m afraid of what people will think. I’m afraid that people will laugh at what I write. That it will sound silly. Even putting these blogs up sometimes fills me with terror BUT what most people don’t know is that here us a part of me that is a little masochistic and gets off on the pain. But thats a story for a different blog post. I want to write. I want to put it all out there. But what if people don’t like it? What if I do it and nobody reads it?

I’m not brave.

I’m a coward.

I tell my kids all the time to live their lives with out fear and to go out there and be brave.

Pretty hypocritical eh?

My children think I am the bravest woman on the face of the earth and I feel like such a fraud.  I feel like such a disappointment to them.  My two youngest daughters look at me with such love and admiration and they tell me all the time how wonderful and amazing they think I am for all the things I do for them.  They tell me how strong and invincible they think I am and all the while I’m crumbling inside.   But I cant tell them because I cant disappoint them by letting them know that the one woman they love and admire is really the biggest fraud and pretender around.

So I guess this is where it all begins again.  I start to put one foot in front of the other.  I put my fingers on the keys and I pour my words out here and I just write.  I write what ever comes to my mind.  Some of it is going to make perfect sense.  Some of it will come out with perfect clarity.  Some of it will come with great wracking sobs that will leave me so empty that when I am done, I’ll have nothing left.  Some of it will fill me with horrors that I wont want to remember and some of it will fill me with pure unadulterated joy and remind me of all the reasons I’m alive.

I’ve just sat here and deleted an entire paragraph that said I will get back to the person that I used to be.  But I won’t.  Because I don’t want to be that Lisa.  That Lisa is gone.  That Lisa was the one who just toed the line.  The Lisa who smiled because she thought she had to.  That Lisa who did what every one told her she should.

I will get to the point where I will become the Lisa I am meant to be.  I don’t know who that is. All I know is that I’m getting older and I’m changing as I do.  I’m finding the things I loved before, no longer love.  I’m finding love in different things.  And thats okay with me.  I just don’t know what those things are.  But I’ll find them.

Thank GOD for the clarity that my best friend gives me.  I’m blessed that he’s still watching over me.  Right now, I’m feeling better than I have in the last few days.’

Life’s a journey they say, not a destination.

Looks like my journey is taking me in a new direction….






This entry was posted on May 27, 2016. 1 Comment

Chasing The Sky

tornadoIts been over two years since I’ve been here.  This place almost doesn’t feel like home.  Notice I said ALMOST.  But coming back through the door, it feels familiar and comforting, like a pair of pj’s or a comfy jumper.  Like one of mum’s hugs.  If your lucky enough to experience that sensation.  But you get my point right?

Anyway.  I’m back.  I woke up this morning at 4am, with the overwhelming desire to write.  And I haven’t experienced that for the LONGEST time.  My world has been insane and crazy to say the very least.  I’ve been suffering insomnia and I’m usually just getting to sleep at this time NOT waking up and I’m lucky if  I can wake up before midday.  But today, when I need to be up at 7am for work.  It happens like this. But I digress. Lets get back to why I’m here.

I’m all fucked up.

Too put it mildy and bluntly.  I’m fifty shades of fucked up and I don’t know why.  I’ve gone from being happy and settled in myself to being stressed, angry and miserable.  I’m sad.  I’m seriously miserable and I cry at the most simple things. I look at my grand daughter and think how beautiful she is and I cry.  Not just tears well up in your eyes crying, I’m talking sobbing your heart out tears.

I’m angry.  At everything.  Yesterday the coffee table was in my way.  What did I do?  Well LJ, you moved it I hear you say.  Nope, I picked it up, carried it down the hallway, opened the door and threw it out into the street.  And no, I am NOT kidding.  A massive over exaggeration I know but that is seriously how ANGRY and over it I was.

So LJ, what’s bothering you, is your next question right?  If I knew, I would tell you.  I have three beautiful daughters.  Two of whom I see every day that adore me and never lose the opportunity to text me and tell me that they love and adore me.  I have a beautiful new grand daughter who is now 8 months and who I see every day and who loves me too death.  The huge smile on her face when she sees me warms my heart no end. I have an amazing new house that is perfect for me.  I have a few close friends that love and support me.  So I have no fucking clue WHY I am so fucking angry and miserable.

I seem to have lost my love for everything.  I don’t have any love for the gym anymore.  I don’t even write anymore.  I think thats pretty obvious by how long its been since I’ve been here.  I’ve tried numerous times to write blog posts, but every time I’ve written something I’ve read over it and gone, umm nope, it doesn’t sound right.  Its not funny, it doesn’t flow like it used it. What if I put it out there and people read it and think bad of me?  The funny thing is, on my Facebook and my Instagram intro is lists me as a rebel and a divine trouble maker.  Yeah right.  That’s really fucking funny.  Because if I was really that person I wouldn’t give a fuck what people thought about what I wrote.  I’d simply be writing for myself.  Wouldn’t I?

OMG LJ?  You’ve got it! I hear you all say.  So go to it.

Perhaps I will.

I need to do something, because the overwhelming sadness I am feeling lately is terrible and I don’t want to go back to the living in the world I used to when I had the black curtain pulled around me.  There was a time in my life when I LOVED to live in that situation.  I was moody and dark.  I had that black curtain around me.  I wrote all the time and everything flowed.  My blog was amazing, I had thousands of followers, my relationship was awesome (so I thought) because I was so dark and fucked up that he could manipulate me like a puppet.  Yep it was great right?  And then it all came crashing down because I was such an asshole.  And I don’t want to go back to being that horrible person. I want to be able to write again.  I want to be able to write about my truth.  My sadness, my happiness, my anger, my pain.  Just everything.  If people wanna read it then great.  If they don’t, well that’s great too.  At this stage I just wanna right again.

I just want to start living like a human again.  I’m tired of being sad and a hermit.  I’ve been spending so much time tucked away in my bedroom that its becoming a joke.  Of course I go out.  When its absolutely necessary.  Not because I want too.  Just because I have too and I know it has to change.

Six months ago I was settled.  I was working with Melanie (not my crazy lesbian prison guard sister, but more on that tonight) my naturopath and losing weight, I was slowly going back to the gym after Michael destroyed my love for it (more on THAT tonight too) and just LOVING my life and then life decided to say “hey, lets fuck her up” aaaaaand it did.  And now here I am.  Lately the headaches I’ve been suffering are debilitating to the point that I can not cope.  I’ve tried everything and I have absolutely no relief.  And the pain is so shocking that I am like the monster from the black lagoon and all I want to do is sleep.  And I cant even do that because insomnia is kicking my ass.

Get off your meds they said.  It will be good for you they said. You’ll sleep better they said. FUCK YOU I say.

Next week I go back to my psychiatrist and talk to him about dealing with this rage I’m feeling before I destroy another coffee table and the neighbours really start to think I’m a fucking nut case.  After that, its the neurologist to find out just WHAT is causing the headaches.  Maybe, just maybe I can get some relief and start to become somewhat human again.  Because I seriously can’t stand behaving like an asshole and treating people so appallingly.  Not only that.  I can’t stand having so little respect for myself.

I spent so much time, money and effort working on the inner me and of late it feels like it was for nothing.  Because I’ve lost it all.  And I don’t know where to begin to look to find it again.  I’m at a crisis point in my life.  I don’t think I’ve ever been at a point where I don’t know which way to turn.  I’ve pulled out my oracle cards again for guidance and tonight I’ll sit down and let them speak to me.  And then I’ll go to the one woman who tells it like it is with absolutely NO BULLSHIT and who will hopefully help direct me back on the right path.  Miss Emma Chalmers.

I know now, that I still have my love for writing and blogging.  Over 1000 words tells me that.  And there is plenty more I have to fill you on when I’m back tonight.  Hopefully no more coffee tables will have been damaged before then.

Until then














It’s A Start – Isn’t it?




I remember the day I found out my father had died. It was one of the most horrible, mixed up days of my life. I found out via Facebook. Just how everybody wants to find out one of their parents had died – right? I called my cousin wondering if what I had read and since then heard, was true. Her father was my dad’s brother. She confirmed the rumour. My dad had died a few hours previously in the hospital. I don’t think I have ever felt so conflicted in my life.

I was sitting in my bed. And I looked at the black and white picture of my father and I together when I was six months old and I remember covering my mouth with my hands as I let out this gut wrenching sob. But no tears came. I was so confused. All I knew was that I had to sob in silence because I hadn’t told Montana yet. We’d been told he had six to twelve months to live and three weeks later – he was gone. And as much as those gut wrenching sobs came out there were still no tears. So why was I sobbing? Was it relief because the nightmare was over? Was it heartbreak that despite everything I had been through at the hands of this man that my dad was gone. I had never lost a parent before. I had lost a best friend to suicide and another to murder and I grieved them and I grieved them hard. I still think of my best friend every day and grieve for him. But my dad?

Did he deserve my grief? Confusion had set in. In a huge way and I had no idea how to handle it. I know that I contained the tears until I had called all three of my girls and told them that their grandfather had died. Not one out of the three of them showed that much emotion. Not after knowing what I had suffered and having been a part of my screwed up family and living in the same house as him until I could prove to the Department of Human Services that he had indeed had a record for sexual abuse.

I know that it was a horrible thing to do to your father but I had to save my girls from going through what I did as a child and that was the only way I knew how. And doing so ended any chance I had of having a “relationship” with my dad. After I had told the girls I cried. And there were a few tears. There was this terrible, terrible searing pain. Almost like someone had punched me in the stomach and I couldn’t catch my breath but still. No tears. Just tremendous sobs and a feeling that all the breath had been sucked out of me. My dad was gone. He had left the earth and there was no way I could ever see him again. I couldn’t talk to him. I couldn’t get answers to my questions and most of all I couldn’t say goodbye. Writing this the tears are flowing. But then. I knew I was in pain but there were no tears and I needed tears to confirm it. Didn’t I? I mean, shouldn’t I be curled in the foetal position a blubbering, snotty tear filled mess? Shouldn’t I be screaming and crying and demanding answers from my family. Nope. I just sobbed, great big, shuddering sobs.

As the days went by there were still no tears. Not one. Just a feeling of emptiness. Not the same as when my best friend died or my girlfriend was murdered. Just an empty feeling in a part of me that I thought WAS NOT my heart. Again, I found out the funeral details from my cousin and I was told that I wasn’t welcomed but fuck that. I was gonna go. I don’t why. Maybe to make sure he was gone? Maybe to say goodbye? Maybe to forgive him? Nope. Not forgiveness. Not me. I wasn’t capable of forgiveness. Pffft. That was for soft people, for people that loved their parents and I didn’t love my father. Right? Or did I? Again, I weighed up what he had put me through not only at his hands but also the hands of his brothers. Not just one of them but two. All I knew was that a part of me HAD to be there.

And then. Something hit me. Hard. It was like being hit by a massive Mac truck that had driven right through me and sucked all the air out of my lungs until I couldn’t breathe. There were no feathers or rocks. Just that big ass truck that was traveling at 100km’s an hour and didn’t bother to stop and see if I was alright it just reversed and ran over me again and again. Everybody that knows of my work with Emazon knows how intense it can be. I have never in my life met a woman like her who just puts it out there and calls you on your bullshit. And there aint no running from it. It’s face it head on. Time to man up lady and get that shit out there.

I had sent my sister a very scathing email. I didn’t take into account her feelings at losing dad. Why the fuck should I? All she had cared about was the fact that SHE was daddy’s number one girl now and not me. I was out of the picture and she had him all to herself. So fuck you Melanie. All I could think of was that if I couldn’t cry then I was just mad and if I was mad I was sure as shit going to let her and my brother know. And I was going to let them know that there was no WAY on this planet that I was going to let them stop me from attending the funeral of the man who gave me life. Even if it was a shitty one at times. Well, lots of times.

One of my cousins (and rather ironically the one who is a police officer) had organised security to be outside the funeral home so that I couldn’t get in. Security? For me? His daughter? What the fuck did these people think I was going to do – lob a hand grenade into the funeral home? Perhaps turn up with a 9mm and take out all the leading players. It was at that time I started to think these people had seriously been watching to much Underbelly. I mean really? Security? Well, didn’t that just piss me off even more. I called a friend who owned a security company and asked him to attend the funeral with me. If THEY were having security then dammit *I* would to. I’d have my own bodyguard and I’d storm the fucking funeral home and nobody would stop me. Lets look at the main players. Would my sister or her wife stop me? Nah, they’d be on the ground out cold before they could even attempt to lift a hand to throw a punch. I knew that for a fact right there and then. As for my brother – Oh lord. I still to this day think he believes he is Alphonse Gangitano reincarnated and considering I knew Alphonse the sad part is I think that Alphonse was a better person. He certainly didn’t sexually abuse one of his nieces time and time again like my brother did. So he was no problem. They made this damn funeral so secretive that for my daughter to attend they didn’t tell her until they picked her up and they had taken her mobile phone off her so she couldn’t call me. Paranoid much?

So there I was. Adamant I was going to this funeral. And fuck the rest of the family. I’d take my bodyguard and if I upset the crowd then tough. Then it smashed me again, that huge ass Mac truck that I am sure left a hole right through the middle of me again. And all that came to mind was my mum and the work that I had done with Emma. All that she had taught me and shown me how to recognise in myself came smashing through the “fuck you all, you can’t stop me, I hate you and I’m gonna be there and prove you all wrong” attitude that I was carrying because I can assure you. I was as bitter as hell. And I don’t think it was because my dad was gone but because I had been banned from his funeral.
I’ve never been close to my mum. But that’s another story. But what I did know was that she had been married to that man for FIFTY YEARS. For fifty years she gave her heart and her soul to that marriage and to that man even though at times god knows he didn’t deserve it. He treated her shitfully with his drinking and not coming home until it suited him and then turfing his dinner across the room at her. I can’t count the times he fell over drunk in the laundry and slept there without a blanket or pillow and she just shrugged and left him there. Regardless of all the bad there was good and she could see it and she loved him. How do you NOT love someone you spend your entire adult life with?

It was only when I truly sat down and thought about her and how the shit fight between their security and my security would turn out and how much more it would upset her that I made a choice. A conscious decision. That little voice inside me was telling me to listen and I did. I listened to my inner voice and my Greater Mind and I decided that I just wasn’t going to go. Some days I still think about that decision but I still feel that I made the right choice. I didn’t bother to email my sister or brother or anyone else in the family. But I did send a text to my mum. It simply read: I know tomorrow will be difficult for you. But you need not worry about me disrupting the proceedings. I am staying away because after 50 years of marriage you deserve the right to say goodbye to your husband in peace. I didn’t get a response. I didn’t expect one and quite frankly I didn’t need or want one. I just wanted her to know that she could say her good bye’s in peace without a family war being played out before her eyes.

I remember feeling angry for the next few weeks. I was so furious that I couldn’t contain it and sadly everyone around me copped the brunt of my wrath. So what right? If I was unhappy then everyone else could live in unhappy land too. Don’t think you are all getting a free pass because my dad had died. Nuh uh, no way at all. Betcha wondering where that inner voice and the ever so wise Greater Mind was now huh? She was there all along driving this train. But to put it in Emma speak – she was just driving me around and around the same streets. Right around the block over and over telling me NOPE. Not stopping. We’re gonna keep going here until you can admit something is wrong and deal with it. So I fought back and she won. (That was a no brainer) Then along came that truck again. I fought with my daughter, I fought with my friends and I was full of hatred, venom and anger.

But the sad thing was – I didn’t know the how, why or when. And I had no idea how to decipher.

Annnnnnd thank you Greater Mind and the Universe – Emma was in town and she was doing 1 on 1 sessions. So I booked in and man was I excited. Cos we were gonna unravel this anger and fill me with light fluffy shit and I’d be tranquil and serene. And the world would be bright and sunny blah blah. Yeah nah. It was one of, if not the most emotional, gut wrenching, out pouring of confusion, anger, sadness and TEARS. Rivers of tears and snot. I remember crying so hard that I couldn’t get the words out and even writing this right now I am starting to cry. So cry I did and she just waited in that calm, ever so patient Emma way she does and when I was ready we continued. And it unravelled but not in the way I thought. Sure I had some choice words about my sister but my main anger was at being kept from the funeral by my COUSIN and his police officer mates and some interesting release about my father and how I had felt for him when he was alive and well, then alive and sick and then finally dead.

It was only then that I realised that I did care. That I did love him and that was okay. And it didn’t matter what he hard put me through in the past – he was still my dad and I still loved him and I forgave him. I had to. If was ever going to move on and heal and teach my girls to forgive and move on then this was a good way to start.

Before you leave Emma, she’ll usually give me a card with something written on it. This one says “I Am Freedom, Love and Justice” Freedom because I had been able to let go of the furious hurricane of hurt inside and find forgiveness for all of the them but especially my dad. Love because despite the fact that the unconditional love wasn’t being given to me I had shown it to my mum when I had decided to skip the funeral for her to mourn in peace. I remember telling Emma I hated my mother and I didn’t love her at all to which she ever so calmly said “yes you do and you just showed your unconditional love for her by not attending your fathers funeral so she could greave in peace” Did that one ever shut me up? Yep. But looking back at it now I once again know she was right. And justice. My cousin was reported to the Victoria Police Ethical Standards department and was required to explain why he had recruited ON DUTY police officers who were not even from his station to show up and wait outside the funeral home for me. And why he thought it was acceptable.

Luckily for me these days my Inner Red Rebel is out and running free and she runs the show and doesn’t she let everybody know it. I listen much more closer to my Greater Mind and I have learnt to trust in it because it will never steer me wrong. It hasn’t yet and lately the decision I have been sound choices that I am confident in and happy with and know are the right thing for myself and my girls.

As for my dad and the rest of the family I’ve shed many tears. I still do now and I am sure I will in the future. But I am able to put it to rest and know that if and when it is brought up around me I am not going to be filled with this boiling rage that I can’t control. That I can deal with my emotions in my own unique way which doesn’t involve police or lawyers or any thing else. It just involves taking a moment to stop, think and listen to that quiet inner voice called my Greater Mind.

Because regardless of anything else or anyone els she’ll never give me misinformation or lead me down the wrong road. Maybe we’ll take a detour here and there but we’ll get their eventually.

This entry was posted on October 19, 2014. 1 Comment

Step One – Facing My Past



I’ve often heard it said that the children of abusers grow up to be abusers. Is that true? I really don’t know. It’s not really a topic that you want to discuss on Facebook or at your local gym or anywhere for that matter. I mean seriously, how many of us that were abused as children bring it in conversation as adults? How many of us even want to THINK about it?

I know for a fact that in my case part of this is true. This is a hard post for me to write but I am sure it will be even harder for me to post. Actually that’s a lie. The hardest part about this post is posting it. Not because I am worried what people will think about me, I’ve come to far in my life to worry what people think about me. I’m not worried about what my children think as this is a topic that we have discussed in the past and recently and the outcome of that was for two of my three daughters to admit that if they had not have had the life they had then they wouldn’t be the amazing people they are now. They forgave me a long time ago.

So why is it hard to post? Because I am admitting to myself that I was a shit mother. A shocking mother. An absolutely disgraceful mother who swore if she ever had kids she would never treat like she had been. So what did I do? The same things that my parents did to me. Minus the sexual abuse of course.

That admission doesn’t make me feel any better. Of that I can assure you.

I was a child of an abused home. Yep. There it is in black and white. I was the victim of physical, sexual and emotional abuse. So where do I start to unravel this mess huh? I have very limited memory of my life from the ages of 6 to 16 and then when I left home at 17, I left it behind and started again. But its no wonder my kids haven’t had the most stable mother in the world.

In the limited dissuasions with my friends who I have shared this information with most assume that the physical and sexual abuse were the worst. Nope. The smack in the mouth from my father for turning my head in the wrong direction when my mother was speaking to me, well, that only stung for a little while. The belting I got from my mother with my fathers belt because my room wasn’t up to her standard and the socks were in the wrong drawer, well that stopped burning after an hour or so. I could go on and on but what for?

My parents had no idea how to be parents. My mother was thrown out of her home by her step mother after her father died and was left to raise her sisters and herself. As for my father, well his dad was an alcoholic (just like my dad)

As for the sexual abuse. It’s a part of my life and due to some help from the amazing Emazon (whom you have all heard me prattle on and on about) I have been able to find a way to accept it, deal with and let it go.
I can hear it now people reading this and saying OMG why? Why? Because my father is dead and buried now and he took that abuse with him to the grave and even if he wasn’t, he would NEVER admit to what he did to me. Nor would he admit that he knew I also suffered that abuse at the hands of his brother, yet they continually left me with him. I never said anything. What for? I was a child for fucks sake. I was left with my family – people who were supposed to be the ones I could trust.

So now, the bruises faded and the memory of them went away and the sexual abuse I never thought about it until I grew up and had children of my own and went of the rails. And if you want to know about that then you’ll have to wait for the book.

The emotional abuse was the hardest. Being ignored. Being told you were to fat by your mother and being told at 10 years old that you were going to Weight Watchers and wondering why your friends were laughing at you when you told them. Because my mother had told me it was a great thing and I should be proud of it. That’s why. Being sat in the living room with my family and watching them eat chocolate biscuits and lollies and being told that I couldn’t have any because I was fat enough. The little girl in me is screaming inside right now as I am writing this because some of this I have NEVER told anyone – not even Emma. Nobody at all.

Imagine coming home from school and finding the entire contents of your bedroom in the hallway and then being left in there and not being allowed to come out until it was up to mothers standard. And here’s the kicker for you: Not being able to finish what was on my dinner plate or not liking it. If that happened it was served up the next morning for breakfast and if I didn’t eat it then I went without and then it was given to me for lunch. I think the longest I went without food was a day and a half. I learnt how to sneak out of my room to the kitchen in the middle of the night and sneak snacks into my room until my mother found a cheese wrapper on my bedroom floor that I had dropped instead of throwing out and I got a belting for that too.

There are thousands of examples I could give to you. But I’m sure you get the picture. I remember her telling me when I was a kid that when I was born I took so long and caused her so much pain that she resented me, she once told my sister she wished I had died. Then I found out that the day they left the hospital with me they dropped the basinette they were carrying me in and I feel out, onto the concrete and hit my head. Some days I wonder if that incident had anything to do with some of my issues in life.

Pretty cool huh? Mother wished I was dead, dropped on concrete at three days old and then starved and kicked about like an unwanted puppy because I didn’t obey commands. Father comes home shit faced drunk several times a week, throws his dinner at my mother and then when he sobers up kicks me around because I can’t fight back.

But I could. And I did.


When I had my first daughter I was 19. I got pregnant the first time I had sex. Lucky me huh? I did believe I was pretty lucky because I was going to have a child of my own and I was going to do it all differently.
I didn’t. I stayed with my parents for two weeks and then I was on my own. I was impatient and angry and frustrated and a million mixed emotions that would take forever to describe. I remember when Rhiannon was six months old and she was teething SCREAMING at her to shut the fuck up because I couldn’t get her to stop crying. As she got older it got easier and then at 21, I had Joanne. This time I had a mother in law to help me. Little did I know that behind my back she was mistreating Rhiannon. Several years ago I was told that while I was in hospital after having Joanne that Rhiannon had wet her pants. How did they deal with it? They rubbed her nose in her underpants and left her to sleep in a wet fucking bed. All night. What did I do? Nothing. I said nothing. I did nothing. Why? Because I was terrified that they would take my girls away. And I was weak and gutless and didn’t have the courage to defend my child. I yelled at my kids. And I yelled at them in the same way I was yelled at. I smacked them. I never beat them up but I smacked them over and over again (so I guess in a way I am no different to my parents – I still subjected them to some form of abuse)

After that relationship went to hell in a hand basket I went off the rails. I left my kids. I just – left them. I left them with people I thought I could trust. And off I went. Contrary to what has been said about me, I didn’t leave them to research a book about the sex industry. I went to WORK in the sex industry. Not to support my kids but to support my nasty new drug habit that I had picked up. So I left my kids and didn’t see them for six months.

Then when I was 26, I got pregnant with the miracle baby. Montana. And I was forced to make a life altering decision. The baby or the drug habit. There was no choice. I packed up, moved to a small country town where nobody knew me and moved into a self contained unit in a caravan park where I made good with myself. Worked out my issues. Spent time with my two girls on weekends when my parents would bring them to visit and just nurtured myself during my pregnancy.

Eventually all three of my girls came home to live with me. I thought it would be different. I thought I was going to be a better parent and that my kids would come first. Nope. Wrong again. This time it was the mighty perils of internet chat rooms that got me. I would feed my kids noodles for lunch and tea. Oh don’t worry they got toast for breakfast (incase your wondering this is all writing with a scathing tone directed towards myself). If they wanted something I was furious with them for invading MY time. My time? My time should have been theirs and these days I kick myself at the years I wasted not knowing my daughters while I was getting sucked in by men who told me they loved me and wanted a future with me.

We had no money. My kids had plenty of material shit. Televisions and DVD players, stereo’s etc. Everything they wanted. But they never had a mother. If I am going to continue to be honest they never stood a chance because it was all about me me me. I had shrinks tell me over the years that it was because of my childhood that I had acted that way and that I shouldn’t blame myself. Well I call bullshit there and I say it wasn’t. It was just that they were in my way and I was a selfish. self absorbed individual who should never have been allowed to have children. Again, I left them. This time I didn’t really have a choice. My sister and my parents decided while I was working that the kids would be better without me and took them. Yet again.

So do the children of abusers become abusers? I guess some do. Because I am walking proof of it and the sad part is I see it in my own daughter (Rhiannon) with her interaction and lack of patience with her own children but at least I know she is working on it and doing the best she can to try to make it better and that is all I can ask. I see her leave vitriols of hatred in her emails to me because I left her when she was a child yet she leaves her children for days at a time but for her that’s okay. But talking about things this way makes me think that I am just shifting blame and these days I don’t like to do that.

She hates me. My lack of parenting skills and my lack of nurturing skills and my lack of knowing how to care about anyone but myself showed itself in her with several suicide attempts which I still blame myself for to this day. Finding her in the shower after swallowing a packet of pills, rushing her to hospital after she had slashed herself to pieces. Not to mention the bullying she suffered at school due to her then undiagnosed psychiatric issues. Having her committed to a psychiatric facility several times to save her from herself. It has all taken a toll on her. I know it has. I see it in her eyes and I can feel it in the words she says to me when she emails me to tell what a horrible person I am. Not that I need her to tell me. I know that some of the blame she has to put on herself. But the majority of it came down to me and now when I see pictures of her I wonder about the scars she carries and I wonder if she knows that I carry the same scars too. But its too late now. She has made it crystal clear she wants nothing to do with me. She blames me for both her sexual and emotional abuse and that was a massive load that for years I carried on my shoulders. Its only now since meeting Emma that I know I can’t be responsible for everything and I have to forgive myself. And I do for some of it. I just wish that I could make her see it.

Joanne – she had the hardest ride of all. Left in foster care because of her tragic temper and her habit of throwing knives and fighting with me. Taken away by the police at my request and put in a youth hostel. And I let it happen. I didn’t know how to deal with her anger and her frustration about what happened in her childhood while I wasn’t there to be her mother. Instead of trying to be the mother she needed I again buried myself into a nasty drug habit and when back to work in the sex industry. This time to support my children. I didn’t have to pay for my drugs. What for? I was only dating one of the biggest speed dealers in the western suburbs. Again, I was gone for days at a time. The money was good and the kids had whatever they wanted.

But I still didn’t get it.

All they wanted was me and I didn’t see it. Or maybe I didn’t want to see it.

When I left Victoria to move to Western Australia I left Joanne behind. She was living in foster care with a family that she was happy with and she was starting to settle down. When I had a chance for a fresh start I took it. But I had to make a decision. I made the wrong one. I wish I had of realised that then. What will forever haunt me is going to say goodbye to my daughter and watching her break her heart and cry her eyes out on the side of the road begging me to take her with me. I told her I couldn’t. I lied. I could of, I just didn’t want my new life to be tarnished with anything that was drama filled. I wanted a happy life and I sacrificed my child’s feelings and emotions to do it. A few weeks ago I called her.

I told her the truth and I apologised.

Her response was to tell me she loved me and that she understood and that she was grateful. Because if I had of taken her then perhaps she wouldn’t be who she is today and she loves who she is today. I love who she is today. A strong, amazing, independent and intelligent young woman who everybody loves. I see the goodness in her and it makes me smile and it allows me to forgive myself slowly slowly. I am so grateful for the relationship that we have now. Out of the blue at any time of the day and at any given time I will get a message from her or a snapchat just to say “I love you mumma” or to tell me that I am the best mother in the world. How she learnt so much forgiveness I don’t know but I am grateful for it.

Then we come to my little girl. My Montana who is now 18 and an adult. And my strongest support and my greatest ally. God forbid ANYONE say ANYTHING less than complimentary about me because she will shout down anyone. I am her mum and you are not to disrespect me. No matter who you are. Not even her sisters can get away with that.

We often talk about her childhood and her’s was so much different than those of her sisters. By the time I got her back she was in primary school and a lot of her younger years she doesn’t remember. I have offered to get her counselling but she doesn’t want it. She thinks that if she can’t remember it then she isn’t supposed and she doesn’t want somebody poking around in her head. Montana knows all of my secrets and all the terrible, terrible mothering I did and no matter what she still keeps coming at me head on with more and more love. She knows about my childhood, she knows about how her sisters were raised and how I left them. I have never been anything less than honest with Montana and for that she points no fingers and assigns no blame towards to me.

I often apologise to her for not being there for her as a mother should be. She shrugs, says shit happens, hugs me and makes it all go away. My own little empath. And Oscar tells me I am one? I have my very own empath and I am grateful for her every day. The relationship I have with her is amazing. It’s loving and deep. Its crazy and zany and filled with up’s and downs but we wouldn’t have it any other way and neither would she. I truly believe she is my soul mate. And I cherish that.

I still have a long way to go to deal with the fact that I was an abuser just like my parents were. And I have long way to go with reconciling that I was just like my parents. WAS being the operative word. I’m now just me. Just mum. Just working my way through life and learning to live with my mistakes. Learning how to stop blaming myself for things that happened 20 years ago. And to enjoy my life and my love for my kids (well at least the two who love me and want me in their lives).

I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that although I did smack my kids as they were growing up, I never physically broke a bone or bruised them or put them in hospital. That doesn’t make it right and it doesn’t excuse what I did but it is something I am glad about.

I’ve been finding feathers day after day for the last two weeks and I was unsure of what they were trying to tell me. When I read my angel cards yesterday the card WRITE came up and today’s card told me the angels and the Universe were with me and that I should write. Then a conversation on a television show jolted something inside of me and I knew that it was time to purge myself of this.

To listen to my Greater Mind, to let my Inner Rebel loose to speak her truth.

Not the watered down truth but my real warts and all authentic truth.

And that is that I subjected my own daughters to the very same behaviour I swore I never would because I had no idea who to be a mother or how to stop being selfish.

So I’ve done it.

And I won’t speak of it again. Except for in my book. Obviously I can’t leave out such a big part of the story which is of my life. Its not all shiny, happy people holding hands in that book that’s for sure.

Now after beating myself up for the last however many years I should close the door, move on and pay attention to what Emma once told me.

That I am Freedom, Justice and Love.

And regardless of what I did in the past I am a good person.

This entry was posted on September 29, 2014. 1 Comment

Playing With Fire


To carry a secret is to play with fire.  Try to pass it on and you risk hurting someone else. But hold on to it and eventually you’ll get burned.

It’s been a few days since I decided that I’d blog. There has been so much crazy stuff going on in my universe and its all just not what I want to put out there for public consumption. I know there are people reading me blog who are sitting there with their fingers crossed just waiting for me to unleash on something or someone.

Right now, I just don’t have it in me.

I’m trying to take my life in a different direction and its very hard to do it publicly when its something that still isn’t sitting comfortably with myself yet. I know there are some who would judge me for it and that is their problem not mine but I also know there are others who would understand and offer me sympathy.

Right now I don’t want sympathy. Or understanding. Not until I have a better understanding of what has transpired myself. And right now I think that is going to take a lot longer than I thought it would originally.

I’ve always been able to come to terms with the decisions I make and the paths I choose to walk down. This path is one I ran away from a long time ago and now I am finding myself drawn back down it. Part of it me is very comfortable with it because I know I do it well. But there is a part of me who needs to hold my cards close to my chest because I don’t feel that the whole world needs to be privy to my thoughts, choices and decisions.

This weekend see’s me back in Bendigo and I am still trying to come to terms with what happened the last time I was here. This time I have managed to stay away from the places that hold the memories. I haven’t even found myself drawn to it. Even though I think about it – if that makes any sense at all.

So I am here. Not more than five minutes drive from the site of the memories and I am fighting the urge to go there and purge myself. It would be pointless because he isn’t there. I could go there and talk to the ghosts the reside there. I could talk to the memories and cleanse myself of the dire confusion I am finding myself in. I could spew out of me all that is going on in my life because I know the ghost would never judge nor never tell – because as they say dead men tell no tales. And as silly as it seems – the ghost would never judge.

I hate having secrets. Especially from my children, my friends and the most important people in my life. I hate not being able to pick up the phone and tell someone “hey, this is what is going on”. I hate not being able to have this decision sit comfortably with myself. I know its something that has to be done and I am finding that I am being left with few other ways to go. I am finding myself backed into a corner and I am about to come out swinging.

Sometimes we find ourselves put into a corner where everything is on the line and this is one of those times for me. There are two choices, throw up my hands in defeat or come out fighting. And I don’t give up, not until I exhaust every option.

NOW I am coming to my last option so the fight is on.

Six months ago I thought I had it all. A fiancé who thinks the sun doesn’t shine in the morning until I get out of bed. A great job. Great friends. And now its all changed. I find myself wondering if I let myself get into this position just because it was easier than saying – NO.

I have someone else in my life right now who I never expected to find there. It’s s strange predicament to find yourself in a relationship with someone who is dark and dangerous (not to me but his job requires him to be that way). And who understands me. Who looks at me and knows what I’m thinking and what way I want to go. What I want to do and where I want to be and who stands patiently behind me and allows me to do it at my own pace.

When I was with Michael, things were hmm micromanaged. He knew where I was, what I did, who I did it with and the exact second that I would be back from doing it. In the beginning I didn’t mind it. I liked it. The fact that I thought that he cared so much for me that he wanted to know my whereabouts. Now I know that wasn’t the case. I am not by any sense saying that he didn’t care. He did. He just didn’t care in the way I thought he did. He still cares now. It’s nothing for him to call me or me to call him and for us to just – talk. He is one of my biggest supporters and the keeper of a part of my heart and my deepest secrets.

This man – is such a big part of my world. It’s nothing to go somewhere with him and know that at all times I am safe. My personal self is safe and he will not let anyone near me if I want it that way. I can go somewhere with him and know that if I walk across the room alone, that at all times he has an eye on me and not in a creepy, stalking, controlling way – just in a way that reassures me. That I am not alone.

I’m finding that the things in my relationship with this man are different from others. I can walk into a room with others and still feel out of place and often unsure and wary of where I am and who is about. With D&D (as I call him) I can walk into a crowded room and feel his hand very lightly on the small of my back guiding me not controlling me and its a very comforting and relaxing way to feel. To stop mid step because you are unsure of where to go and to hear that quiet voice in your ear telling you to just breathe.

To feel safe like that is something that has always been important to me. To know that I can look in one simple direction and meet their eyes and know that the small smile they give me means I am safe from harm. It makes sense to me.

I think that the time is fast approaching where I have to end what I have with someone else. It is unfair to him, to my children, to my friends and to everyone who spends time with us. It’s not that I want anymore from D&D than he gives. Its a comfortable fit with someone who just wants to be with me and for me to be with him. Even if it is to just sit on a bench by a lake and watch ducks swimming. That’s all.

Right now D&D is across the room from me watching some inane dribble on tv but its comforting that I can sneakily look up from this keyboard and find his eyes meet mine at the same time. Just the smallest nod makes everything that is churning around my stomach disappear and I can breathe again. He doesn’t push me or nag me or coerce me – he just lets me be. Me.

For the first time in so very long I went out for dinner tonight and I don’t think more than ten sentences were exchanged but everything was understood and it was comfortable – if that makes sense to whoever is reading this – because it makes sense to me.

It’s what I need and its what I want. And if its nothing more than what it is now
then I am happy with that. Because its taught me that I’m not as hard to figure out as I thought I was. And its nice to have a relationship in my world that doesn’t need nor want a label.

We played chess today. Nothing major huh? But it was to me because I don’t know how to play chess. But the patience displayed to teach me was relaxing and I laughed, really laughed for the first time in so long. It would probably be easy to understand if I explained that this was an adult size chess board in the middle of a park.

My hand fits in his like its made to be – it all makes sense to me.

Its the little things that sit in the forefront of my mind.

Like how our conversations are the secrets that he keeps, he lets me know he’s here for me and he wants me to see myself the way he see’s me. As amazing.

This is part of the battle I am fighting at the moment and after re-reading this I know half the battle is won.

Listen you sinner – I’m sinning to – but just wait until the darkness falls so I can sin with you.