Tag Archives: #betterpoetry

The Day My Brain Exploded

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In the closing hours of this day, I have called friends, had a beer and now sit to do what I love (other than drinking beer!)…. write.

I have rambled more in recent days than I have for some time. For this rambling if unread, scorned or ridiculed, I am grateful and lucky.

It was two years ago today, a few hours before now that my ‘brain exploded.’ I had a brain aneurysm and think but for the grace of God I may have died. Statistically everything was against me. But….

I was in Adelaide – no ambulance to the local under resourced hospital and the overworked doctors and nurses; no waiting for the 45 minute flight to Adelaide – basically if this happened, here in Berri, I am sure, I was a dead man.

The ambos arrived at the small family gathering we were having in Norwood and I was in care shortly after and stuff being pumped into me to save my life.

To me, this was a blur; and for some time the days after; I still walk many times a day into a room and can’t remember why I went there, I lose things a lot.

But, I remember; not for some time, that at the time I was having the brain explosion, I was not scared. My family was with me and I was a peace.

So on Jesus’s Birthday two years ago they got the Makita out and drilled into my head.

A lady, who I saw was a healer spoke to me before and said she would save my life. I am a sceptic but I believed her. I have spoken to her since in her office with an entire wall covered with ‘thank you’ cards.

Her name is Associate Professor Amal Abou-Hamden.

I am still grateful to her and tell her receptionist that at my next appointment I will ask her to marry me: our appointments are often rescheduled as she is saving someone elses life – plus I am worried about the age gap?

My brain exploding changed my life – other than never being able to find my keys.

I saw that the ‘well’ decide what the sick really needed in rehab – and I checked myself out twice and was nasty to people, but no more than I saw the suffering of those who have lost everything.

I was angry, demanding and offensive (after all I had a brain injury)… maybe it was just that all my life long ‘governors’ were off.

People I loved came to see me; having three ex partners standing by your bedside all at the same time can seem like a nightmare, but: old mates came; young mates came…. and I wrote crazy stuff in my journal and pushed my wife away.

My sister travelled to be with me.

My daughters held my hand.

… and then I went home.

I have been here since and found that death is not something that is now a stranger to me… I wrote my epitaph several times in hospital and rehab (for the short time I stayed there – checking myself in and out …?) and it was not good?

My wife left me, my heart broke worse than my head had, and I broke with it.

My friends, my band of brothers, my guardian angel daughters saved me.

I went to the Rural and Remote ward in Glenside Hospital. I was humbled, lost and sad. (I love my Band of Brothers but the tricky bastards got me locked up because they knew I would con my way out!!!)

My Pastor friend Toh Sang Ng visited me…
My daughters and band of brothers visited me…
Old mates of heart and courage visited me…

I bought smokes, and popcorn, and watched movies, with friends I would never have met, had my brain not exploded.

I found something else; I found me. Not the one I hadn’t mostly liked, but the one I was looking for and knew was there from one of the last things my Mum said to me before she passed away… “You are a good man.”

My Mum was wise and loved God and I am certain was loved right back. It wasn’t until after my brain exploded that I realised that my Mum wasn’t telling me who I was, but who I could become.

I just always remember that Colonel Sanders didn’t start KFC until he was 65 years old, that, I realised I still had a chance.

I wrote a lot of apology letters to the Doctors and Nurses, to my wife, family and friends; some things can’t be mended and must only be forgiven.

… and time passed…. not long, but enough for me to realise that all the bullshit of knowledge and wisdom in these writings (although I must admit, rather eloquently and inspirationally written..) lacked the spirit that I wrote about – the connection to something bigger than me – I knew it was there as Eckart Tolle had told me so, YouTube clips told me so, the Art of War told me how to kill those who told me so, The Art of Peace told me how to do it with a stick and not actually hurt anyone during a fight (?), my mate Made in Bali taking me to the temples and dressing up in the garb told me so, the Philosophers I read and read told me so, my old mate Toh Sang told me so.

So, I didnt need to reach out, I just had to understand what I had always know.

And… I did.
Now I have the life I always felt but didn’t quite know; like waking from a dream that you can’t quite remember but know it was a good one (Not the flying dream, because that one is always a bit scary!)

So, now two years after my brain exploded (and thanks to Associate Professor Amal Abou-Hamden’s skill, I have maintained my stunning good looks)… I am grateful and lucky.

I post only the picture of Associate Professor Amal Abou-Hamden in this post as most of the pictures I would otherwise share are inside my head and can never be printed as they would so underestimate the things I have seen, experienced and begun to understand.

The best part, is that I still falter about 1000 times a day (about the same amount of times I have looked for my car keys – this week!)… it teaches me that the past is gone, I try to learn from it: the future is unwritten (please see the Movie Donny Darko because at any minute like him, a jet engine could fall through your roof and kill you), I have a plan, but it will most probably not turn out that way…. but, mostly my life is consumed by trying to appreciate the moment I am now in.

I want to thank all you dudes who have travelled with me on this trek, before and after my brain exploded; and especially to those who have helped me with my baggage, or even carried me when needed; and mostly, for seeing the things in me my Mum did.

In life you rarely get BIG second chances – I got one (please don’t stuff it up Ian!!!)…

I believe what I believe, which before I just thought I understood….
I live now, like today, is my last day (and forget most days and live like a rock star…?)…
I forgive easily, I hope more…
I think I love more, better, and deeper…
I write bad poetry….
I try to be kind…

I know my story is just one of many that in the past I wouldn’t have really listened to because I was too eager to talk myself…

I have time now:

I have every moment until I shuffle from this mortal coin; where you all come to say goodbye and note that their is no trailer on my hearse, as I have left it all behind;

I just hope, I leave something more behind, than all the fantastic, magnificent unfinished projects in my shed and my bad poetry….

Thank you, for my second chance.

The Trek

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I have spent a few days considering writing a post. I still have a lot of poems to share (groan I hear!) but think by posting one today I would be losing half my audience, and then you would be sitting there reading this all alone!

I am pretty sure my “Better Man Project” is dead. I think constant improvement is often used as an excuse for not being the best you can today; it was certainly an excuse I used.

In addition my daily Mantras have not given me the guidance they were supposed to. I was always going to follow all of them… tomorrow, and just do the best I can today, instead of being my best every day; I think there is a difference.

Those of you (well both of you) who read my blog, may have suspected I was insane; and no doubt feel vindicated after my recent stay in the Rural and Remote Ward at Glenside Hospital. But, to me this was not the greatest indicator; it was my obliviousness to the fact that I was living my favourite quote from Albert Einstein.

As we all know, me more than some I would suggest, is that the insane person does not actually know they are insane. This was me.

I wrote blogs about Mantras and Being a Better Man; but, I was not improving, but just justifying the way I viewed the world and interacted with it.

I was rarely, the best I could be each day; which could have translated with a little effort and dedication into everyday.

I so often could not control what was happening to my life. I can only control how I react to it – this was more of a revelation than any Mantra or personal improvement process. I have always had excuses for the reactions to things in my life; I see now I was mostly wrong. Rest easy I now accept this.

In accepting this I worked on a little theory of how I felt about myself and my past action:

Guilt is awareness that our actions have injured someone else.

Shame is how we feel about ourselves.

I have a lot of regrets; but little shame. I am incredibly embarrassed and regretful for many things I have done and a lot of the things I have said.

My greatest, latest, all in living colour and 3D stereo sound revelation is that I historically have not been me; the true me. I have been sold, and resold, solidified and worshiped the gods of power, anger, consumerism and possessions (No, you can’t have all my stuff for free; I said realisation, not I am becoming a monk!)

A mate recently started calling me by my birth name and he said I was dead. He said:

We all loved the 70% of our mate who was loyal, generous, smart and helpful, but the other 30% would take our heads off, rip our hearts out and destroy with a word…

There was plenty of regret in my heart plus real admiration that he had the courage to tell me. I must admit when he told me the 30% he identified, it felt like 99% of what I mostly felt; I was lucky as I think I faked about three quarters of the 70% he actually liked!

So why did he tell me? We have spent a bit of time with each other lately and he said he didn’t see any of the 30% – okay, lets call it what is; he didn’t see; an angry, controlling, abusive, malicious, self centred prick!

Why?

Because I almost died.
Because the love of my life left.
and… I broke.

The first two, precipitated the last one; the first two were a realisation that all was not good in my view of life. I actually cringed at what my epitaph may have been if I had died and shake my head at how I treated love.

The breaking was the making.

Now I am here with all the pieces, but, I am lucky and grateful that I am still here. I am lucky and grateful for the love I had – and live in hope for.

I live one day at a time. I still have food in the fridge and pay my bills but mentally I am just in this day. I have hope and realise the world is not all about me.

Right, so what? Well fantastic that I am all better today, but there will be a tomorrow.

I am still on my trek. And it is a trek which I have just started. Up until recently I have been going through life as a ‘journey’. I may actually say I was on a ‘cruise’ with occassional fact finding missions into consumerism, power and surveying the battle grounds of my self justified victories!

These ‘journeys’ through life; the constant excitement of smashing down the rapids in my rubber raft driven by barely qualified guides and being with all the other tourists who pay for cheap excitement and gratification. These were my journeys in life, but now I am on a trek.

What does this trek entail that differentiates it from my life journeys to this point?

  • I have a lot of baggage that I have to carry (I do so gladdly but have packed them better)
  • There will be deep valleys (some like ‘the valley of the shadow of death” in the Bible!)
  • Highway men will constantly be trying to rob me (Read the Media, the merchants of misery; Advertisers and the Government!)
  • There will be wonderful scenery if I bother to lift my head
  • I will be with new and old travelling companions
  • I have a destination
  • I am determined to overcome all obstacles
  • I am doing it for me
  • I do it every day and don’t have days off

I now trek through life, some days the hills are steep, the wind is against me, it’s raining, and I am tired. On days like this I need only to take one step – that way I will always be going forward.

I don’t blame the weather, the steep hills or dark valleys or bad travelling companions for my progress, for it is my trek.

Each day I will choose how I see the next step; and I will take it.

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.