Category Archives: The Black Dog

Our Trek – to Our Town…

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So here it is…

That is a weird start to any post….. considering it is pointing out the obvious: but so often the obvious is hidden, literally in plain sight?

A few nights ago I found the courage to sit and write again: publicly I mean: not in the beloved confines of my shed with pens, chalk, markers on pieces of recycled cardboard (often beer and cider boxes): but on my long lamented blog.

I had a thought a few days ago when a trek I had been on, took a turn that I did not expect.

I have been working on a project for a year, called the ‘Out Town’ initiative. I have no inclination to explain it all here and will place ‘strategic’ links to The Fay Fuller Foundation (click here for all the info), TACSI (I just wrote that as my reminder that I despise acronyms…. The Australian Centre for Social Innovation – click here for these super dudes) and a myriad of other organisations, individuals and communities that have a hope, vision, drive and purpose to make our world a better place.

“Our Town” in a Nut Shell

Is an initiative to provide rural towns in South Australia with the guidance (through TACSI) and the financial backing (through the Faye Fuller Foundation – okay I hate acronyms but from here on referred to as FFF) to set our own courses to the future, to have towns (and regions) which are well; I interpreted that both physically and mentally; even in regards to prosperity and thriving; to a mutually agreed future.

The above is but an understated ‘quote’ of what these two organisations have offered us; mostly, to me, they have offered me hope in our community.

Yes, wonderfull words, but backed up, as all good mates do, with deeds.

After our initial application, which was submitted by hard working visionaries in our community, we were short listed to the final 6 towns.

Now let’s get this into perspective.….
We were short listed to receive funding for ten years, consisting of $300,000 per year, to fulfil the plan that our town would come up with. …. not sadly, but graciously the Faye Fuller Foundation was going to fund two towns of the 6 ‘finalists’.

… and then the world changed: Kangaroo Island: our States southern jewel was devastated by bushfires……

The FFF in wisdom and generosity, gave one of the ten year funding grants to Kangaroo Island.

… and there are people in this world, organisations that you hope exist, and they step forward…. that do things you would never expect (but, secretly always wish they did and that person or organisation actually existed…)

The FFF decided to still provide the funding for two town of the 5 towns….!!!

It them became even more than we could have ever hope for in todays world:
The FFF, then provided us with the guidance and mentoring of TACSI, and unbelievable $45,000.00 in ‘seed funding’ to help us put our final ‘town plan’ together and …. then gave us a year to do it.

We worked hard, and people got tired and their community picked them up and gave them a rest; always finding someone to take their place. AND, and a big AND, we learned about ourselves, we learned about our towns, we learned about doing things differently, we learned to ask for help, we learned to fail, we learned to accept that there was no right answer, we learned to plan and design and implement, not from the board room, the committee, or the financiers ….but to do all this from a chat with a mate, the park bench, the neighbour we have never spoken to, the invisible, the lost, lonely and forgotten members of our towns. (See a lot more detail and our town ‘insights’ on our Facebook page – click here)

We chatted, we talked, we went and spoke to our neighbours, people we had never met (and even now we know there are people we have not yet met… but want to…)…

… and I speak just for me here; I found a new way of doing things: I met mentors who were half my age; I saw with wonder the fantastic young people in our community; I learned, and learned and learned; each day knowing the more I learned, mostly only taught me how much I didn’t know and still had to learn….

All the ‘finalist’ worked towards their plans, for their community for their people for their future….

… again I stopped and wondered about all the tings that I ‘knew to be true‘ crumbling as I watched….

All these ‘competitors’… left no one behind; they shared their visions, their ideas, their insights, their failures…. the towns were not competing, but travelling on a trek that we were all going on; carrying our baggage; on the hard days carrying each others… it wasn’t a competition it was a community.

And on the last day the ‘winning’ towns were chosen: and the congratulations were as soul felt as the commiserations.

… and the FFF had decided at the last minute to give another town the ten year funding… is there no better gift than that which is given freely…. and so generous, and so unexpected

There were two towns that missed out…
And we were one….

But, the FFF and TACSI had still found us funding for one year of $100,000.00 and the promise, of which I have no doubt, to support us.

Just about me….

As I sat and listened to the announcement from the FFF that other towns had received the funding, I sat back and looked at the disappointment in our teams face…. it was strange…. I saw, also complete acceptance and gratitude, joy for the other towns… and determination, we would not let our town down and would go on… in that moment I wrote the following on my phone (I love pen and paper but I am learning to be ‘techno-savvy’):

Our Town
1300: just found out we missed out on the Our Town big grant….. wow, didn’t think I’d be this ‘hit’ by it…..


Now: it becomes a real challenge to make a difference when we are not able to splash cash around…  which rarely solves anything…. it just feeds egos and often attracts the wrong people…  now we have no choice, but, to have this driven, from the park bench, the shed, the blockies, the ones that need us the most….. the people we have not yet met and are wanting to meet….

Now, we work for us: for our Real town: real people and not key words, phrases and trendy idioms …. I know in this town we have wisdom and knowledge: champions and characters: history and stories …. all of which are ours, they are our community, our family, and we bear the scars.

I think we have actually won more by not getting the money: we get to not give up: we get to continue our trek with all our baggage, and the more we have collected along the way: but, we have a whole lot more people to help us carry it….  we have people, groups, an entire town who are hungry and have the appetite to make the changes we want and need….

… and I still mean this: I am tired; I have bad days where the troubles of my life seem more important than my neighbours; but, mostly, in this trek that continues, I know I can not go on without my neighbour…. even if I don’t like them; or I envy them; or they wronged me in the past; they, in some fashion, are still my neighbour, and do I want to actually go on without them…..

In the days that followed, particularly the day after, I nursed my hangover, because at the time I was drinking with my mate Wayne who had been hurt in the days before and will be recovering for the months to come…. and I walked home through my town and was glad to be there.

Fait, is a wonderful thing: so long as it is in your favour….

The next day I read this (I read a lot and a lot of what I read bewilders me and some times inspire me….)

The Best Seed

There once was a farmer who grew the most excellent wheat. Every season he won the award of the best in his area.

A wise woman came to him to ask him about his success.

He told her that the key was sharing his best seed with his neighbours so they could plant the seed as well.

The wise woman asked, “How can you share your best wheat seed with you neighbours when they compete with you every year?”

“That’s simple” the farmer replied “The wind spreads the pollen from everyone’s wheat and carries it from field to field. If my neighbours grow inferior wheat, cross-pollination, would degrade everyones wheat, including mine. If I’m to grow the best wheat, I must help my neighbours grow the best wheat, including mine”

The wise woman learned a lesson and left better for her visit from the farm: as she walked away she thought to be wise is always to learn from where you least expect it.

…. and I sat on this thought, and all my thoughts that spin around inside my head… I often say my head is a dangerous place and I never go there alone: I think any trek, whether in the wild unknowns, or inside your own head, requires the company of those you trust; perhaps the person just next door, your neighbour.

So I thought I’d ask a question of my neighbours….

“If we were on a trek and there was just the 6 companions, friends, neighbours heading for different destinations but all on the same pilgrimage; what would I do as a fellow traveller.

We had set out together, with the same goal, but provisioned differently. Four of us had 3 apples, but two had but a small portion of an apple, which to continue would have to be eaten on the first day of our 10 day journey.

Would my four companion travellers each give one of their apples so that we all had 2 apples to journey onwards together?

Each sharing their bounty, evenly; so that all could continue on the journey together; equally nourished, each supporting the other; each pollinating each others fields, so that all may grow the best crops”

I think we all have stories, we all have stories yet unwritten.

Our pervious stories, if we listen, teach us lessons; so that the next step we take is a better one, in the right direction, with the right companions, for the right reasons.

I know tomorrow when I wake up, I will move that one thing, I will take that one step, I will continue my trek; after all what else is there; there is the joy of sharing it with a neighbour who has become a friend.

RUOK? – What if You Are Not?

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Well the day is almost over and I am sure many of us took the time to ask someone, RUOK – we may have well been asked ourselves.

Why are we asking today, RUOK? Is it as a platitude; a response to a very well run and important campaign…. or are we asking with full expectation of any possible answer.

Hey, are RUOK?
Well, actually I’m not….

WTF (Not the answer we were expecting….)

What now?

I often ask people RUOK and get asked a lot myself. I often call people having challenges in life; I ask RUOK on 365 days of the year…

I often tell people I call, that if ‘well meaning’ people ring up and ask if they are okay and then say “If there is anything I can do, let me know”. I tell them to reply “Well as a matter of fact there is….” (It is important that the ending of this sentence says something along the lines of….) ….. “Can you come around and wash my car?” “Can you do my washing?” “Can you come around and clean my house / wash my windows / weed the garden…. etc etc.”

And…. the silence on the line will be deafening.

Okay, this is a bit cruel (but you may get your car washed!) but, the point is by making that phone call you have already done more than most.

I have a wonderful “Band of Brothers”, my beautiful daughters and friends and family from the wider world.

I am lucky.

They ask me if I am okay all the time; and when I am okay they are proud of me; when I am not okay they are there. I don’t ask them to wash the car but they would.

I know, without a hint of doubt, embarrassment, guilt, or feelings of weakness and failure, that I can call them when I am not okay… this is their greatest gift.

For which I will be forever grateful.

So, today, on RUOK day, be that person who resolves to ring that friend, tomorrow or next week.

Then when you make that call, or drop around unexpectedly, or invite that workmate for a coffee; understand that you have already done a lot, and more than most.

When your friend, relative or workmate is not okay, know that unless you have lived it yourself, you can not understand what it is they are going through. This sounds harsh and ungrateful for all your kindness… but, unfortunately it is true…. and that is okay.

This knowledge saves you expending your efforts in trying to understand it or fix it. You can then put all of your efforts in doing the easiest and best thing… just be you.

Today, I am okay; actually nowadays, most days, I am okay.

Why?

Because when I wasn’t okay, when I was as far from okay more than I could have ever imagined; I reached out and there were the hands to hold me up, and some days they carried me, in heart, mind, spirit and body.

From their love; from their actions; and often from that phone call; laugh; a hand on the shoulder; a look and a nod; I am okay. I am thankful, grateful and humbled.

Tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, month, year, I may not by okay… and as much as I don’t want this to happen; I feel safe in it…. because, of the people in my life who ask me RUOK, or give me permission and confidence to reach out and say “I am not okay today…”

Be these people; be there, ask, or reach out. We are all doing our bit which can change the world. It can change or save a life – perhaps your own.

I believe we are all here for a purpose; it may not be too evident in those dark hours; but, I believe it is true… I think we all know it. I had to go through my darkest time to truely feel that my purpose, yet unknown, and perhaps never known, was always there.

Each day, I let go, let Go, let love, guide me. Some days those thoughts, and those thoughts alone, are enough; and some days I need others; and hopefully some days I can be there for others.

I am still here.

I am okay.

… and most days that is more than enough.

Churn, Churn, Churn – Poetry in Mental Health

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I wrote this poem while in treatment… and really it just about sums up the situation. The ruminating creates the rubble in our minds.

But it does have a happy ending; which I hope all your treks do.

Stare, stare, stare,
Churn, churn, churn,
The air is still;
                                    I am in turmoil.
 
Heart, brain, soul,
Churn, churn, churn,
I sit a statue;
                                    To the storm within.
 
Body, mind, spirit,
Churn, churn, churn,
Each aches for;
                                    Lasting peace and calm.
 
Alone, separate, one,
Churn, churn, churn,
Isolated in mind and body;
                                    With me.
 
Then:
 
Surrender to all,
Gone, gone, gone,
All is unreal;
                                    In thought and emotion.
 
Churn, churn, churn,
Spins into the either,
And I am here;
                                    Now is peace.

My Mental Health – In Times of Mind

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I has taken me a while to getting to write this post.

Because, it is important, humbling, embarrassing; but, mostly life changing.

After a major health scare in December; let’s say it for what it is, it was a brain aneurysm and I almost died. Staring the Grim Reaper in the eye a couple of times can give you a bit of a scare and be life changing!

In recovering from that, and then having massive changes in my personal circumstances, there is no other way to describe it… I broke.

A really good psychiatrist said to me there were a lot of medical terms for my condition but basically I had a ‘good old fashioned nervous breakdown.’

As my spiritual guide Russell Brand would better describe it “I was a bit fucked.”

As a result, and only through the absolute love and dedication of my ‘Band of Brothers” and my wonderful daughters, they got me the help I needed. Thank you, you saved me.

I was admitted to the “Rural and Remote Ward” a Glenside Hospital. The only experience I had in the ‘Glenside Mental Hospital’ was dropping crazy people off in my career in the Police and my old Mum often saying “If you kids don’t behave I’ll end up in Glenside!”

I was humbled and grateful for all the care and treatment I received there of several weeks as an inpatient.

Also during that time I found a little blank notebook in the bookshelf that had a floral cover and the words ‘Life is Beautiful’ printed on it. In this little book which I found by coincidence I started to write poetry.

Now those who know me and have heard me recite “Clancy of the Overflow” about 1000 times and threatened to punch me will know, I have always been a little interested in the wonders of verse and poetry. I have written a few before and love a verse or two in my homemade cards which some of you have been subjected to.

Plus I have to thank my late buddy of 30 years Des Steele for his love of poetry and it’s inclusion in many of his ‘Desisms’. (I still miss him and you can read about him in a post I did a few years ago when he passed away – click here).

So I filled this little book with poetry during my recovery. I filled that book and a few more pages since!

The poem below was the first I wrote in Glenside. It is basically the first draft, are a lot of my poems, which I don’t change in typing them up so as not to lose the moment they were written.

The poem below has recently been published on a United Kingdom site – www.theperspectiveproject.co.uk – which has a lot of works by people recovering from mental illness – worth a look I think.

So, I haven’t written here lately, largely because I have been writing in another way I love with pen and paper in cursive (much to the horror of my daughters and their inability to read cursive!)

I will include a little heading, not like this rambling, for each of my posts where I publish another poem; I may even read a few on my YouTube Channel Being a Better Man.

But, mostly I want to share my trek, as I experienced it, and wrote about it.

I will share my posts on Facebook etc (which is probably how you got here anyway) and appreciate your comments and feedback – there is a comments section on the bottom of this post and all my posts if you want to use that on this site to comment or provide feedback or suggestions.

By the way, I love doing this, it has helped a lot in my treatment and recovery. I hope you can find something for you.

Enjoy. (and No, hardly any of my poems rhyme!)

“In Times of Mind – Hope”
 
In times of mind,
Through experience,
I lose myself.
 
I see, and think, and feel,
And lose to myself.
 
I circle and dive,
I resurface;
To a confused sea.
 
I struggled against
The currents within;
And the steep mountain ahead.
 
I swim and climb; alone:
Against the winds within.
 
In the blackness,
Without light, I turn searching,
For landfall, or the smallest foothold.
 
I am alone.
 
I reach out my hand,
In one final grasp at survival.
 
…And suddenly, I feel
The grip I have been seeking.
 
I am held afloat,
A firm foot hold found,
 
It is love,
And family,
And friendship;
It was there all the time.
 
The light of the beacon,
Always shines;
My blindness was from within.
 
The light now guides me;
The light now fills me.
 
I now sail and trek forth,
In light, in love;
With hope.

Better Dancers – in Death, Thank God We Can’t Hear the Music

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I haven’t written a post for a while as I have been busy – not with life, as that is always there, and always gets in the way.  I have been busy with a support group called the 801 Group.

It is a support group for Police in South Australia, their family, friends and colleagues who suffer from PTSD, stress, anxiety and depression.  I have written a few posts about it in the past.

The group started about 18 months ago with a few of us getting together and having a coffee and a chat.  We went into the wider world and started a Facebook Page which slowly grew although attendance at the meetings waxed and waned but rarely into double figures.

During those meetings we shared horrible, tragic, frightening stories; and we looked in each others eyes and knew we were, finally understood.  We supported each other, received a few phone calls from others (a lot actually, if you count Facebook personal messages) who just could not make it to the meetings.  Most couldn’t make it to the meetings because they were psychologically too damaged, to embarrassed or no one else knew they were suffering (many were taking annual leave instead of telling anyone of there battles).

I was one of the founders of the group and did it because I didn’t want any more cops to have nowhere to go.  I didn’t want anymore cops to suicide – if just hurt my heart too much (even when I didn’t know them).

Our little group (ignored by the South Australia Police who sent us a nice letter saying they acknowledged we existed but they had their own stuff – and the Police Association of South Australia who printed a letter from us in their Journal and then said they wouldn’t give us their ‘imprimatur’ – if I here that fucking word one more time I will scream – plus PASA had their own stuff, their own long game, wait and see we are talking to the Government….. blah, blah, fucking blah!)…. meanwhile our little group met and did what we could for each other.

Out little Facebook page wandered along, picking up a member or two – we actually celebrated a few days ago as we had reach 250 members…

Then it happened again.  A well liked, active, dedicated young cop killed himself.

I have to say it.  Every time, every-fucking-time, it happens, I cry.

I retired 5 months ago, it’s not my problem, I don’t want to go on a crusade, I don’t want to fight ‘city hall’, I want a peaceful life in the country…..

But….  I cry, every-fucking-time the blue ribbon appears on the Facebook page, every time I hear the story when they ring me (again!) about another Cop who ‘topped’ themselves, I cry.

We lost Sharynne Grant such a short time ago.

We lost Ashley Meeks a few days ago.

I think PASA and SAPOL lost their humanity a lot longer ago.

And now it begins.

The media (the fucking Merchants of Misery) go into a frenzy, not to report on a tragedy but to get an angle that no one else has, so they can sell it and get ratings, page clicks or sell papers…..

SAPOL takes the company line and have a really important ‘Commissioner’s Enquiry’ for a few months, form a new project team to do another project, introduce a new support scheme…..

PASA blames low numbers, they blame SAPOL, they blame the government (but not to much) they have a new enquiry, fuck that we’ll have a national enquiry; beat that little State SAPOL, we have the Police Federation of Australia – hear that…. National Enquiry mate, fucking National..!!!

And they dance and they talk, and they promise, and recommend, and sell and sell and sell.  And they sell that they understand and they will fix it and they are on our side….

And they sell the message, the party line, the government policy, the non-committal heartfelt sentiments of our caring leader – and they sell and they sell ……

And when the dust settles and the sales are over, we look and realise, the only thing that has been sold, is us – we have been sold out!

And a few days ago the blue ribbon started to appear again.  I cried before I even knew who it was even before I logged in – not again, not fucking again!

So I sat at my little desk, to check how the 801 Facebook page was going – how my mates were going, and thought I better get a meeting together (as they had stopped a few months ago because there wasn’t enough of us to organise them…), I flicked on the screen, logged on and found that 2700 people had joined our site in 48 hours.

Yes, 2700 (2953 total membership at its peak to be exact).

I cried.  I was overwhelmed.  I learned of Ashley Meeks (who I did know) and I thought of him now dead, seeing his mates rally.

But the rally was one of pain, of fucking heartbreak and the sadness that hurts your heart like nothing else.

And I read the posts and I cried, most of the time.

Hundreds, no thousands, in the Police family were pouring their hearts out, disclosing horror, upon horror, upon horror – some people had to leave the site (and I get it – I would be gone if I didn’t run it and have a few backing me up!) because it hurt them too much, or reminded them to much, just reading the stories.

And there was anger, and sadness and the loudest rally cry I had heard in the Police for years….. a call from the heart, a call to stop this horror….

….But, within the rally cry I started to notice something else, not from the rallying members, but from somewhere else….

I started hearing in the background, the faintest sound of music….. and slowly, but surely, the music got louder, until, at exactly the right cue, the fucking bullshit dancers (some were even marienettes this time – a nice twist!) appeared….  and started dancing the same old fucking dance again….

And I cried.

I shut down my Facebook page, I turned off my phone, said “Fuck ’em” and hugged my wife, who said “I love you, are you going to be okay”  and I said “Yeah, it was never me I was worried about” and she said “Yeah, I know”.

So, I wrote this.  On my blog – for me, for Ash and Sharynne – because even though I only personally knew one of them…. I miss both of them so badly…

I have heard the call for being positive, for not slagging SAPOL or PASA or the GOVERNMENT, for working collaboratively, for sitting around in bean bags and singing kumbaya and talking about our feelings…..

… and all the time I hear the music and see the dancers dancing ….

I’m going to bed.  Hopefully I won’t dream.

Better in the Line of Duty

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I started writing this post a couple of weeks ago and only got to the heading.  I was going to write about the difference between having a job and doing a ‘duty’.

The heading just sat there because I was unable to find the words which I thought were appropriate to explain the difference – especially considering I was going to mainly write about the Police.  The Police, in addition, for some time have been trying to gain status as a ‘profession’ – like lawyers! (Why?)   I do understand that the ‘big Police machine’ is now trying to run like a corporation, there is always a couple of things that I believe have been forgotten.  The Police is a job, a vocation, a career and a duty of SERVICE.  In addition those undertaking this duty of service have all sworn an OATH.  To a lot of people this oath may not seem much, but with it comes an obligation to serve and to do your duty.  I am pretty sure there are not too many jobs where people swear on the Bible, or the Koran or take the affirmation that they will serve and do their duty.  I know when I took the oath it was with my head and my heart.

These are all great words, often thrown about by the ‘Merchants of Misery’ (the Media) which in the end actually lose their meaning; I think Richie Benaud put his cricket commentary career into perspective about what words to use when he said “The Titanic was a tragedy, the Ethiopian drought a disaster, and neither bears any relation to a dropped catch.”

So often words are thrown about; words such a tragedy, hero, sacrifice, etc etc.

Screen Shot 2015-09-29 at 10.14.55So, I was wondering how I was going to explain the word ‘duty’.

Why is it that swearing an ‘oath’ and doing things ‘in the line of duty’ is so special.

Well, on 29th September 2015, the words came to me in a Facebook Post I wrote.  I got up in the morning knowing it was National Police Remembrance Day and was shocked that there was not one mention of it in the media – even today, the day has passed, unnoticed by most.  After I scanned the news I sat down and wrote a few words from my heart and posted it onto Facebook.  In the last 24 hours those few words have been shared and ‘Liked’ numerous times and comments have all been from those showing respect, sympathy, sadness, pride, thanks and unfortunately first hand knowledge.

So, I am sharing them here again, because this is my place, this is where my words often miss the filter of embarrassment, sadness, horror, ego and worrying about what others will think.  I am also sharing these words because I just can’t get them out of my head and that feeling out of my heart:

I sometimes think that my life is a bit hard, I have been treated unfairly or was not given the opportunities I always wanted….

 

I sometimes think that other people have it better than me….

 

I sometimes think about working too hard, paying too many bills, how traffic is shit, food is expensive, holidays seen to short, the news is always bad on TV, the bachelor picked the wrong girl and the lawn needs a mow….

 

I sometimes think about my mates in the Police who will never get to complain about these things again.

 

They will never get to whinge about the footy, have a beer with their mates, hug their wives or husbands and watch their kids grow up.

 

I sometimes think about them; I often think about them when we are talking about the ‘good jobs’, the ‘big jobs’, the ‘funny jobs’ and the stories that can go on all night and get bigger, better and funnier over the years.

 

I sometimes think about them because they died, or were killed or were murdered, doing their job. I sometimes think about the others, the ones that lost the battle with themselves and the things they had seen.

 

I sometimes hunt through old boxes of real photos and hundreds of files of digital photos, just to see their face one more time – in a different time.

 

If I say I sometimes think about them, I perhaps lied a little; I think about them often; I am proud to be counted in the job they were a part of; the family we were a part of – although often dysfunctional like any family – it is still a family!

 

I sometimes think about them, and I am sad, and proud, and feel their loss.

 

Today I posted on Facebook because it is National Police Remembrance Day, but tomorrow they will still not be here, I will miss them, I will look at their photos, I will remember their stories (because through those stories they live forever), I will think of their families, I will think of their communities; all of who were a little better because of their service.

 

Also, because tomorrow a bunch of men and women in blue, will go out and do it all again; without fear from the loss of their mates; now that’s brave; that’s what makes the Police.

 

RIP heroes.

Better Plans and Yesterdays

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Yesterday was Easter and I said before Easter that I wasn’t going to be Better at Oblivious…. well, to everything.

But, what happens when you attempt to notice everything, all the glory of the world, all the stuff that you miss day to day, all the stuff that makes noticing worth it….

And….. suddenly….IMG_4828

YOU (Yeah, you)

Get in the way……?

You had a plan, you had an idea, you even had an ideal with that idea – and you, yeah you, got in the way of your own plan, your own idea, your own ideal…..

You got in the way because everyone else got in your way.

You had a plan to be calm in traffic…
But you got on the road with every fuckwit who ever drove a highway…

You had a plan to enjoy the moment…
But every moment was filled with have to; not want to; and definitely not, can’t want to…

You had a plan to have some ‘you’ time…
You, became them, then us, then all of us, then a party, then a place full of people who wouldn’t go home…

You had a plan to sleep in, or wake early and greet the morning sun..
You just slept because you were so fucking tired…

You got in the way because everyone else got in your way, and you let them, you let them live in your head and not pay rent……

and now another day is gone, you didn’t notice it, it just got in the way of all the stuff you had to do that day… which was mainly not letting anything get in your way…… and it did?

What a fucking waste….
Don’t let it happen again….

 

 

Better at Lonely

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Have you ever just got to the point when lonely was okay…..

Sometimes it is just okay to be by yourself; is this lonely or just being alone; is it okay for just a while or is there a danger of it becoming a habit.

I suppose it comes down to that old saying that you come into this world alone and that is how you go out (I think the actual saying is about coming and going in and out of the world naked… But, that strikes me as a bit of a perverted picture of not only sitting around alone, but also naked!).  If you can’t bear to be with yourself, who else can you bear to be with, and who else can bear to be with you?

There is nothing, quite as lonely as being in a room full of people and being alone.

I remember a long time ago when I was just a young bloke and I split up with my girlfriend.  I noticed that not only didn’t I have sex anymore (except of course when I was alone and naked!) but that I didn’t have a whole lot of places to go, or a whole lot of people to go with. I was in that really strange age group, or rather life stage, that falls differently for all of us. Everyone else was married, or was about to get married, or had partners (we used to call them boyfriends and girlfriends!) or just weren’t available when I was. I didn’t include the group of people that always seem to be surrounded by people;  I dont know about them because I have never been one of them.  (I just thought that perhaps the people surrounded by people all the time might be the loneliest of us all…. I dont know?)

So, am I now a better man at being alone, or am I over being lonely, or do I just accept lonely.

Yes, no.

(Incidentally the ‘yes, no’ beginning to sentences which appears to have become part of our everyday vocabulary is really beginning to shit me beyond believe.   Is it yes or no.  Why would you start a sentence by saying something positive and then negative, in agreeance and then in no-agreeance.  It is just weird, lazy, unthoughtful, non-speak.  It reminds me about the phrase that was going around a few years ago when you would ask someone a question and they would answer ‘pretty much’.  What the fuck does pretty much mean anyway… I suppose it means yes, no.)

Notwithstanding (which is a word that I love), things change over the years and ‘pretty much’ is replaced by ‘here’s the thing’ (which I might claim originality for as it was about 6 years ago that my lovely wife told me that after a few too many wines I would preempt most sentences with ‘here’s the thing’.  I think it has a bit to do with the wine but also a bit to do with the fact that I thought I knew everything and everyone should listen to me!   I also think it was a time before this blog and before my Being a Better Man project when I spent a lot of time talking without thinking and a lot of time thinking without thinking.  My ‘heads up display’ (see My Religion) in those days was more like heads up my own arse – and while I’m looking at me you look at me!)

So, where was I, lonely.

2009-06-09 Me Jo Short Hol 077I have experienced periods of being alone when that is not only what I wanted, but what I needed.  I have experienced periods of lonely that weren’t really ‘sad’ lonely, but just that I wished I had someone to share that moment with.  Upon reflection, I suppose I wasn’t really lonely in those moments I was just disappointed that there wasn’t someone else there to have that shared experience.  I have experience moments of lonely which have nothing to do with being sad, but being in a different time in my life when I wished I was in another (perhaps that is melancholy and not lonely?)

But, the lonely that trumps them all is the lonely I have felt when I haven’t felt like I was one of you, when I was really lost and didn’t know why I was even here?

This is the Black Dog Lonely (see Better with the Black Dog).

I sort of like the sound of Black Dog Lonely (“BDL”) because it really is in a category of its own. Having the BDL explanation, description and now acronym, also makes it a bit easiery to perhaps ask a mate, or tell a friend  – I am feeling a bit BDL today mate?  Oh, shit mate, that sucks, I’ll pop over for a beer.

I have also experienced lonely when I was not alone.

I have experienced lonely when I was siting on the lounge with the girl I loved. Maybe I didn’t love her that way any more and the being lonely was the knock on the theoretical door in my head telling me it is time to let go, or maybe just time to go.

and

I have experienced lonely when I was realy alone, really really alone. In a time before BDL was invented (which factually is any time before today really), but BDL was still just as real.  It was only about me, only me, with me, lonely… and it didn’t pass…. and the Black Dog was not just stalking me but was a part of me.  This is the BDL were you feel like an alien in your own world, in your own house, in your own life, in your own skin.

But,

I have another mantra about that, which is not only a mantra for me, but is a mantra I share.  I share it with you wether you want me to or not.

It is also a mantra that on a couple of occasions I have said our loud to myself or when I have rung a mate who was in the grips of BDL.  This is a time in life when you have gone down the lonely lane, to lonely place, to sit at lonely cafe, to wait for the Black Dog to arrive.

I have spoken to that mate, who is sometimes me, or sometimes another bloke who no one else has rung because they don’t know what to say, and, I tell them the truth.  That is, that doesn’t matter what is good in your life, it is not.  It doesn’t matter how much you look around you and realise how lucky you are, because you are not.  It doesn’t matter how many of your friends and family love and care about you, because you can’t feel it.  It doesn’t matter how much of a great and bright future you have, because you cant see it.  You can’t feel any of it.  It is all tainted, and sad, and lonely and black.  You know this is not true, but, now, it is.

I have spoken to them (and I have spoken to me.)

They were hard phone calls to make (but, I will make them again), hard coffee meetings have, or even arrange.  They are times when you know you are going to talk about things that you don’t talk about.

I ring up, they are surprised I have called, often I don’t know them very well and I tell them a story and it starts with, “I heard you were a bit crook”.  This is not a real ‘question’ about how someone in Australia is going.  We can be anywhere between being on our death beds, having a squirting arterial bleed, or just a bit of a cold; all which falls into the category of feeling a bit crook.  The funny part is that we often greet each other with “how are you going” and reply “Good, thanks” and that is the passing of our connection.  I must admit it is sometimes a relief in comparison to asking “how are you going” and they actually tell you!   When I make the call, or greet them for the coffee, I don’t ask then how they are going because I know, and I know, they can’t explain it.  So I explain it for them and I tell them a story.

I tell them about BDL.  I tell them about all that is good in their life, that feels bad.  I tell them I understand the woman (man) you love, the one you you love with all your heart, doesn’t matter.  I tell them I know they love their kids, but that doesn’t matter.  I tell them I know the hurt, regret, hate, love, questions, confusion, blackness they are feeling and don’t understand.  I talk to them about the feelings that if you have never had those feelings, you can’t explain.

I talk to them and I tell them the story:
about the tough guy crying.
about the fearless being afraid, for no reason, about nothing, about everything.
about letting everyone down, when you’re not.
about, lonely, lonely, lonely.
about never seeing how you will ever be better.

But is is not about that, it is about another thing…

I ring them up and I speak to them about all those things,
There is venom in my voice, because those things are here now and the hurt and they are to be despised.  If they are not here now then they are waiting around the corner to ambush you.  I speak to them, I throw it at them, that this is shit, their life is shit, it feels too bad, it feels to black, it feels too lonely.  I do this because they don’t think anyone else knows and if they do they definitely don’t speak about it

And I say to them. I cant make it better.
And I say to them. I know you. I have been you.
And I say to them, I only ask only one thing of you.
And you have to promise, before I ask you.
And they always say yes, because they don’t have anything else.

I tell them, you only have to do one thing.  You have to promise..

Survive.

If you survive the next minute, survive the next 2 minutes, survive the next 5 minutes, survive the next 15 minutes.

Survive an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year.

If you survive, you may not feel better, but you will feel,
If you survive, you may not get it all back, but you will not lose it all,
If you survive, you may not find the love, but you wont lose any that’s left,
If you survive, you may not find the answers, but you still get to ask,
If you survive, you get to survive,

and

That, can just maybe, be okay in its self, for now.

and

I think, when they realise that it is not about everything, and in fact may all be about nothing.  Then, they may not be so lonely.

Sometimes, you can’t be a better man, you just have to survive.

 

Better with the Black Dog

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I wrote a post not too long ago about being naked – naked to the world by writing this blog, that is.

Well today I thought it was about time to get naked, climb on a pedestal and slam cymbals together over my head.

Let me tell you about the Black Dog.  First of all I got the phrase from a friend of mine who went on the Black Dog Ride (click here to go to their web site).  The Back Dog is depression.

I feel like I am really standing on the pedestal now….

Some time ago I wrote a letter to my family (although it was only for my wife as the kids already know I am not all there – all our kids think that about us! …. my kids know that Dad sometimes goes to a place that it is not a good idea to follow him too) trying to tell them what it was like.  Here it is again.  Let me tell you writing this feels a bit like tearng off a band-aid…. really slowly, plus it’s a bit scary:

“I am writing this because I am just feeling so bad, no worse than I have for the last 5 days, just more of the same worse.  Imagine you fill a glass with black water and then you keep pouring more, blacker water into the glass; but it never overflows; it just gets fuller, denser, deeper, heavier; more black than black.  This is what it feels like when the Black Dog arrives.  There is no joy in anything.  Even as I sit here and think about all the things that are good in my life (I can intellectualise it every time), and there are many.  There is no joy in it, there is nothing in it.  When the Black Dog comes he takes over your life, it’s dark, it’s black, it’s heavy and it’s overwhelming.  Although it always seems the worst when it is happening, it is always the worse at that time, and only that time, at the time that matters.  I can’t explain how it feels to feel so rotten.  I withdraw from you guys because I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to say the things I have said before, but I have to live with you all, and you have to survive me. I have been horrible to myself and to all those around me in the past when I have gotten in this hole.  I try to stay away, physically and emotionally because I know I will hurt you.  Hurting you makes me feel worse and I get further and go longer into the hole.  I know it is horrible and perhaps even scary and inflicts long lasting pain to everyone when I am like this.  But, when I am like this, I don’t care…. and you all rightfully stay away from me to protect yourselves, and I feel so lonely, and alone; me and the Black Dog.  I fail at all the mindfulness that has been guiding me, and get more into the hole.  My brain doesn’t work properly.  I spend most of the day in confused thinking, walking through noise and things I can’t quite grasp.  I shake without shaking, I can feel it but not see it.  I ruminate about every bad thing I have done from yesterday to 40 years ago.  Waves of regret, after regret, after regret, smashes into my mind and stabs my heart (sometimes it is so bad it actually feels like it is a real physical hurt).  The Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda witches haunt my every waking moment, and often the not waking moments.  I get to relive every bad moment in my life over and over again with increasing pain, regret, sadness and shame.  When the Black Dog arrives, I can feel him in the pit of my stomach, he doesn’t just ride on my back, he becomes an actual part of me, on a cellular level, he taints all the things that should be good, he makes everything so…. not good.”

So there is the Black Dog for me… and a lot of the above is probably on a good day.

Somedays I see the Black Dog hanging around in the back paddock and can scare him off.  Other days he attacks unexpectedly from my blind side with such ferocity and viciousness that there is not escape.  Some days getting out of bed in not an option.

I’ve slammed the cymbals together now and everyone is looking.  I don’t know if the noise of those cymbals scares off the Black Dog, but I know sometimes, banging a couple of things together just makes you feel better for not reason.

Maybe, being a better man, is sometimes, just about being able to tolerate yourself, so that later, you get to like yourself, then learn to love yourself..  and, that’s probably okay.