The Daily Blog experiment – mental health awareness

It’s Mental Health Awareness Month. Not sure if that’s worldwide, or Australia-specific. Anyway, UnicornGirl, who is helping me out by posting my videos to TikTok, suggested that I dig up some mental health awareness poems.

I thought I’d have 200 or more, considering depression and anxiety have been decades’-long ride-alongs, and autism and ADHD are lifelong mates. 200 out of maybe 1600 poems. 1/8 surely. But no. Of the poems I’ve databased so far, there are perhaps 20 that deal directly with mental ill-health. For many, many years, how I felt I had to take as a given. I didn’t know I was depressed. I knew, after suffering post-natal depression in 1990 and 1993, that I never went back to how I was in 1988. I felt like a grey, wet, warm blanket was over me all the time, but I didn’t know I was depressed. I didn’t know suicidal ideation was not normal. I thought every woman felt this way and that no one ever spoke about it.

So, there’s very little directly addressing my mental health. Only in recent years have I written much at all about depression, and then, what’s there to say? It’s a warm, heavy, grey, wet blanket that makes everything in the world grey.

However, I have dug some poems out of the vaults, and am about to give them a good going over before recording them for my TikTok ‘helenreadsherpoems’. I’ve printed six, and will choose 3-4 of them.

Alas, my TikTok popularity is waning. I hit my peaks with ‘Autism Awareness Month’ and ‘A Love Poem’, and my nadir with ‘The Busy Soil’ which is about, funnily enough, gardens, dirt, and the earth. I guess people, at least the people on TikTok, want angst, and love, and trauma, not a content little witch watching her garden grow.

The Daily Blog experiment – home!

Well, I’m home after a few days in Queensland, visiting ThirtiesGirl and my three grandchildren. They are growing up without me, mostly. Every time I see them, they’re taller, and more independent. Grandma snuggles are going the way of the rotary phone. The two boys are happy to hang out near me, but aren’t too keen on cuddles any more. I am allowed to hold a foot or ankle and provide reiki in that way.

The girl, age 7.5 going on 23, is getting too cool for cuddles also. The first couple of days, she kept close to me, but as the days wore on, I became less and less interesting and it was suddenly fun to ignore me, give me vague answers, and not want cuddles at all.

This is the way of kids getting older. They don’t want, or can’t admit they do want Grandma cuddles and time. I know that. It’s still painful though. I have to let it happen. It’s normal. They’re not babies any more.

I do think it’s a shame though. Australians, on the whole, aren’t a super huggy bunch to begin with, and the push is always there, culturally, to be cool, to be tough, and not need affection, love, or loads of attention.

Maybe they see the time I take away from them to decompress my autistic self, and be alone as me not wanting to be around them. I do, but I can only do so much and endure so much noise before my nervous system starts sending out the ‘we’re getting super itchy, scratch until you draw blood’, ‘bite your nails’, and ‘bite the inside of your mouth’ signals. All stimming things that I do when I’m disregulated and stressed.

There’s no other solution than getting somewhere quiet, or at least away from their immediate needs.

Anyway, I’m home. Thanks to my Loops ear plugs I survived the flight and noise, and I’m now in bed, tucked up in soft pyjamas.

Tomorrow I’ll fully unpack and make sure everything is put away, and my toiletries bag is restocked ready for my next trip.

Oh, the quiet pleasure of being able to choose from my whole tea pantry instead of the 20 or so tea bags I took with me.

Part of two poems

I know y’all have been patient, hoping I’ll sling a full poem up here. But I’m superconscious that blogging counts as published, and even if only 3 of you read it, it’s still ‘published’.

I’m aware that I’ve done in my First Publication Rights.

When did I get so ‘professional’?

Anyway, post-eclipse, it seems I am robust enough to write some heavy stuff. Not that we saw the eclipse here. Australia was sound asleep, and in darkness. The hysteria was in the northern hemisphere. However, if you’re anything of a new age wanker like me, you felt the energy of it play out.

This morning, it seems that eclipse energy(shadow side), plus new ADHD meds have caused me to go deep and hard with my NaPoWriMo and PAD poetry challenge prompts.

So here’s a wee bit from today’s efforts.

“Take one small girl,

add a neurotypical society.

Beat – figuratively.

Let sit.

Tell her it’s normal to love the world.”

And from “An Ode To Strattera”:

“Oh, you’ve been in my body.

That’s a given.

Hook ups within hours.

Was there pleasure for either of us?

Did you like being surrounded

by my hot, pulsing flesh?

I must say

you went down

almost unnoticed.”

I feel like there’s a lot more lurking behind the inside of my skull, waiting for the right prompts to draw it out. For today, though, this is what’s been occupying my behind-mind.

The Daily Blog experiment – enthusiasms

Up until recently, my stock answer to the “what’s your special interest?” has been ‘dinosaurs’. And it’s true. I first encountered dinosaurs in about Grade 2, when we did a term in them at school. But next term, when we had free choice to pick our own study subject, I was floored. Surely it would be dinosaurs forever? No. Because the cover of my How and Why Wonder Book of Dinosaurs featured a water-supported diplodocus, and an erupting volcano in the background, I chose volcanoes, because they were ancient, like dinosaurs. And maybe I could work dinosaurs into my poster. Imagine my shock when I could find no info on when volcanoes died out.

To this day, if a notebook has a Dino on it, it’s a definite buy. I’ll always watch JURASSIC PARK if it’s on tv.

I hedged around other enthusiasms, or hyperfixations. But now that I’m reading ODD GIRL OUT and finding things to highlight on most pages, let’s get real.

The consuming passion I had for my best friend Gina in Grades 3-6.

Taking notes on my cat’s kittens the way a naturalist might study chimpanzees.

Planet of the Apes – movies, tv show, comics. A huge crush on Roddy McDowall.

A six month delve into Sherlock Holmes academia.

Star Trek – tv show, cartoon series, fan fiction, Austrek, cosplay, fandom, movies.

Belly dance – learning, performing, costuming, jewellery, music, teaching.

Harry Potter fan fiction – 70,000 words on fan fiction.net in 6 months, in between the long hiatus between books 4 and 5.

The Life And Times of Grizzly Adams – I cried for days when they cancelled that show.

Tracing pictures from TV WEEK and colouring them in.

My first herb garden at Honeyeater Place.

Writing a poem a day for months, years on end.

Researching the late diagnosis female experience.

Tarot, and tarot deck collecting.

Sporadic returns to astrology studies for a deep inhale of new info, and then it’s dead to me for a couple of years.

Earring collecting.

Johnny Cash music.

Each and every one of these has had its time in the sun with me. Some I return to, many I don’t. All inform who I am now.

The Daily Blog experiment – a photo from the vaults

2004, and I’m 40 years old. I belly dance at my 40th birthday party. I held a big, splashout party at home. Everyone and their friend was there. Loads of food, drink, music, and my offspring, back then PreTeenPerson(still really PreTeenBoy) declared themself loudly to be who they are.

They were delivered to my house at about 4pm. Shared care between my exhusband and I, and I am not about to go into the saga of why PreTeenBoy was living primarily with him, and only three days a week with me. (tl;dr: emotional blackmail, threats, Centrelink, bullying, unmedicated-constantly-on-the-edge-of-a-breakdown-undiagnosed AuDHD me, bulk trauma, unsupportive partner, shame)

My ex-husband had dressed PreTeenPerson in – get this – pressed brown trousers, and a shirt. PTP could not have felt less like themselves, in retrospect, but Father must be obeyed at all costs. So, there’s my offspring, staring in silent wonder at the balloons and party streamers, the table full of food, and TeenGirl and I in party clothes.

PreTeenPerson took themself off to the dress-up box and found a long black stretch velvet dress in there, with slits up both sides. They teamed this with a single scallop shell on a length of dental floss, and bare feet.

They designated themself the doorperson for the night and greeted absolutely everyone who came through the door. They had many compliments on their dress choice, and everyone but one man was cool with PreTeenPerson being who they were/are. They’d been declaring for years that they were “Auslan sign for girl”, and wearing nighties, and liked to slip into their sister’s spare school dress after school. They owned StarCastles, played with Barbies in the bath, and rejected Lego in favour of sparkly things.

They also knew most of my belly dance moves better than I did. They certainly still remember a veil dance better than I do, despite me teaching it every year for about eight years.

I look at this photo of PreTeenPerson and I see someone who is totally happy being who they are.

The one man who did not approve was a casual lover of mine. He was from the science fiction scene, and to be honest, I’ve always thought that sf people should be a hell of a lot more tolerant of difference, seeing how they absolutely groove to a cool alien species on tv, in a movie, or in a book, and super-active in bringing about the future they want a la Star Trek and The Fifth Sacred Thing, rather than Terminator, or The Hunger Games.

Anyway, he turned up at the door, all in black, as was their wont, and made a long ‘hmmmm’ sound when they spied PreTeenPerson. I swept them away from the door.

“What’s going on there?” he asked.

“Listen, that’s my son. He was here before you. This is my son, my house, my life. If any of that freaks you out, leave. Because in this house, PreTeenPerson is cool. Oh, and we love the Spice Girls, too. And I know what you think of them.”

So, he turned around, gave one regretful look at my bedroom, off to the side, and left. No great loss. He wasn’t even a good fuck.

And yes, to this day, this is my offspring, this is my house, this is my life. If you have a problem with autism, intellectual impairment, non-verbality, hearing impairment, non-binary identity, or interesting clothing selections, there’s the door. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.

The Daily Blog experiment – oops, missed yesterday

To be honest, I’m amazed I’ve kept up as much Daily Blog as I have. In my livejournal days, unmedicated, partnered-then-not, still hardcore mothering, still working a tonne of jobs, still answerable to Centrelink and its whims, I had plenty to write about, and it was the heyday of blogging. Everyone was on livejournal, chatting about this and that. Friends were made, and we all visited each others’ blogs like paying Sunday calls.

Now, even though I have, according to the stats(which I only think to check maybe once every three months) I have 104 visitors to my blog(who are you, where are you, why are you?), perhaps two commenters, and plenty of passive readers, or bots who masquerade as readers.

I was on dreamwidth for a while, but no one really interacted there, and now I’m here. Apparently Substack and Ko-Fi are places to be nowadays. To be honest, what’s the difference between me talking to myself here, or over there? I don’t have a themed blog, as is the mode. I natter on about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes writing, sometimes tarot, sometimes going to see things in the world, occasional whining, very occasional book reviews. All autism all the time, but that’s because I’m me, in my head. I don’t necessarily talk about autism nonstop, because I don’t know what it’s like to be in a neurotypical head in comparison. I can only report on what it’s like when there are suddenly crickets chirping and I realise ‘ah, I have trotted out the inside of my head for everyone to stare at, and it is different in glaring ways’.

Anyway, this meandery post is because I missed blogging yesterday, and to be honest, there’s not much about yesterday that I wish to have recorded for posterity.

Now I’ll move on to today’s post.

The Daily Blog experiment – bucket list item

What to write about today?

Well, we had an NDIS(National Disability Insurance Scheme) meeting with our NDIS coordinator, and a lady from My Second Home, a housing supplier, to do with my offspring ThirtiesPerson. Anything to do with anything like this, I get tremendously triggered. Years and years of awful Centrelink(social security) meetings about disability stuff, employment, and the right to survive in Australia. Years of drama with NDIS funding. Disability, disability this, disability that. Pfft. Nah, one paragragh is all that deserves.

I could write about Couples Counselling. I had an individual session today, and bubbled over with anger that has little to do with PizzaBoy and everything to do with growing up an undiagnosed, underrated, underestimated, mostly ignored neurodiverse, smart girl in the 60-70’s. But that’s stuff that I’m not ready to share.

So, bucket list items it is. One of my bucket list items is swimming with whales in Tonga. My term deposit is coming due soon, with interest on it. I looked at the interest. The responsible mother/carer/guardian/wife would reinvent that wad and be grateful that my nest egg is growing. That I’m a white woman in a first world country that values white, and I’m very comfortable as a near-Boomer. Thanks Mum for the inheritance. Thanks PB for making life financially easier for me, or I’d have none of that money left by now.

But….there are other parts to me than mother/wife/carer/guardian/near Boomer. There is a curious black cat who wants to be a hippie and travel and smell of jasmine and experiences.

I emailed our pet travel agent TallThinYogini and asked if my interest was enough to get me to Tonga, accommodated, fed, swimming with whales, and home again.

I’ve discovered a blog and possible travel website that detailed everything to do with this, so I quoted large chunks of it at TallThinYogini and gave her likely dates.

Judging by the prices quoted for the swimming(it’s Tonga’s main form of income), my interest might not be enough for everything. But surely there’s something wonderful I could do. It might not cover PizzaBoy and I going to Monkey Mia to do the volunteer dolphin programme.

But it would be enough for me to have some time away from everyone and everything in Byron Bay, off season. And judging by today’s therapy session, I need that time away to decompress myself. I am not a very good full-time mother/carer/guardian/wife/housewife/little brown sparrow/responsible adult. Sometimes my hippie trippie self needs new age wankerism for a couple of of weeks, when I start thinking that Circus Skills is a perfectly good university course, and that full-time surfing and weed smoking is ‘well, whatever mate, you do you’, rather than ‘ffs, get a job, or create one’.

Anyway, the research ball is now in TTY’s hands, and I await her response.

And yes, I know, extreme privilege right here, right now.

The Daily Blog experiment- hard study

I’m halfway through the generative writing workshop Season of the Wolf, with Carina Bissett and her Storied Imaginarium.

We workshopped last Friday, so it’s reading week this week. Carina always provides LOTS of reading. Call it reading, study, fueling the genius loci who lives in the walls.

I’m ensconced on the couch, iPad in hand, following links to read stories for the module on The Robber Bridegroom and Medical Bias.

ThirtiesPerson has chosen to sit near me. While I valiantly try to concentrate on The Maiden Thief by Melissa Mall, TP is trying to crack my finger knuckles. They don’t crack easily. I don’t crack them habitually, having been told as a teen that I’d get arthritis if I kept doing it. TP loves cracking their joints, and knows I’ll make a grimacing fuss when they do it.

They’re bored, as evidenced by them sitting downstairs with me. They’ve done the dishes, taken out the recycling, even put MY laundry on. It seems there’s no support worker coming today to take them for a walk.

I’ve asked them if they want to go out. No. That would interfere with being publicly bored.

So, while I study, I get the mostly fruitless effort of them trying to crack my finger joints.

I suspect this is not the ideal study vibe. I’ve read half of the story. Do I know what’s happening? No.

However, I get little enough interaction with TP, so I’ll take what I can get.

The Daily Blog experiment – Fangirl

In the past week, I’ve had the book FANGIRL presented to me on 2 bookshop shelves, and 2 op shop shelves. I figure the universe wants me to reread it. For some reason. I don’t know why. It’s a simplistic coming of age story with an autistic-coded main character, who is wrapped up in a Harry Potter-esque set of books.

So, I succumbed to starting the reread late this afternoon. I’m 20 pages in. Already I’m a bit over the character.

I sometimes think that because 1960-70’s society, schooling, and the world demanded that my autistic traits be squashed down, and it’s likely any tics and fidgets were slapped out of me, that I’m impatient with younger people with autism who have not had that experience, and we’re in fact supported. ‘Indulged’ yells my old near-boomer self. ‘Get over yourself!’ ‘Finish growing up!’

The character has social anxiety, safe foods, obsessions, feel safe only at home where nothing changes, and resents her twin sister for wanting something different.

But, she’s afraid of the student dining hall, and thinks she might be able to survive on muesli bars and peanut butter all term if she’s careful with her supplies, and I have no sympathy.

Despite me planning to take a couple of tea bags with me tomorrow when I have brunch with a friends. Just in case there are crappy tea choices. Despite me planning to take a little tub of grapes.

Despite me estimating that an American girl in her first year of college is 17, and thinking of me at 17, absolutely shit scared of the thought of leaving high school(which I hated) and going to uni.

Why am I so impatient with her? Why do I sneer at her comforts?

The intolerant part of me thinks that because I had to do it so tough, a similar person/character should do it that way too. Why should she have it easier? I didn’t.

Good gods, I’ve turned into “I had to live in a gutter, and walk 50 miles to school in a blizzard”.

This all reflects back on a new conversation I’m having with myself about treating myself kindly, speaking kindly to myself, and allowing all the parts of me to have their say. Not just the Military Commander, Gladys the critic, and Kenneth the Art Critic.

So, this book has come along to highlight where I’m being hard in myself, and still high masking. Okay, universe, I’m listening.

The Daily Blog experiment: making someone feel old

Over the past year, Vermont South Special School has been getting a glow-up, to use the modern vernacular. A ten million dollar grant, and the current principal squeezed every dollar like mad to get as much done for her charges as possible.

ThirtiesPerson attended this school 1998-2003(I think) before going on to Heatherwood Special High School, and graduating 2010. (Mental maths: 1992 + 18 = 2010, okay that should be right. 2010 – 6 = 2004. I think it all adds up to 6 years at VSSS and 6 at Heatherwood, 3 at Princess Elizabeth Junior School for the Deaf, and 3 at Taralye Early intervention centre)

I was coming back from shopping today and saw two of TP’s teachers from years gone by. I screeched to a halt and ran over to hug them. VSSS is 50 years old this year, and they had the celebration today. Cath McDonald(sports teacher) and Dee Tebbutt(TP’s first teacher) were there, and both were thrilled to see me. Now, Cath only retired last year, so she has seen TP on and off over the years. But Dee hasn’t seen TP for quite a long time. When I told her that they were now going on for 32, and that their older sister, ThirtiesGirl, was married, with three kids and living in Queensland, her face was very still for a moment, and I think she slumped a little. Way to go Satya, making someone feel old.

Me, I was feeling sprightly because I have seemingly lost a whole 1.5kg with very little effort on my part, and my new naturopathic regime is putting a spring in my step. I also picked up a bunch of laybys today and have new clothes.

I wished I’d had time to catch up with Dee properly, but she was on her way to somewhere, and so was I.

Anyway, thankyou for everything, Dee. You certainly got TP’s number early on, and worked out when they’d switched their hearing aids off. You got them on stage for the school concert, and when I asked you what TP did during Show and Tell, you said: “Oh, I get them up. They stand there, leaning on my chair, and look at everyone. Everyone looks back, they applaud, and then TP sits down.” That’s my non-verbal person.