I have been trying to find the energy to write two stories into here. One is about the coming of NDIS. Yes, they are back. The other is about the horror period from the end of university to the heart surgery. That one will probably have to be written as a post in one of the old journals which havent been used for a while. They can have the content deleted and get a new theme. There is enough paperwork from that time to tell the story without stressing the memory.
It is going to be hard to write. There is much soul searching and facing of unpleasant facts even if I take it easy on myself
The memory is normally a blank wall with a few cracks I can peer through. My memory I mean. The work put in over the last few days to try and grip story lines has shaken some disparate things loose and caused the desire to write about life. I dont know if they are important. They are about my time becoming a young man and they are going to annoy some of the family. Probably not worth the telling. This story is not about an exceptional time. I was constantly being injured. Anyway. I may delete it. The head injuries mean I still find it difficult to judge what is appropriate. The other reason for writing this has something to do with being injured again and again and just having to suck it up because I was so often alone. I had friends who were treasures for a few years but my soul, somewhere way down, aches and needs vindication and probably a hug which is pathetic
Let us hit the annoying facts first. My father broke my nose twice (possibly thrice) by the time I was fourteen. He came back from Vietnam a very different person and some have blamed it on that. I didnt really see a need for blame. I saw two males testing each other with the youngest trying to get his personal authority. No blame required. We went at each other. However during that time I decided to never have my own children because I saw what two totally different humans could put each other through when forced into a small universe like a family home. There was a time when an outstanding woman found her way into my heart and I would have made a life but it didn’t work out like that.
By the time I was sixteen there had been as many as a dozen serious concussions including one where I had to call for assistance to peel my face out of the dried blood on the floor. I was living on the street that time. I was carried into a bedroom in an old house and slept between two young women who decided to be there in case my condition worsened. It was the only bed and the fact the others in the house gave up their places willingly was a sign of the danger they thought the next night held for me. The girls were living on the streets as well although one was trained as a nurse. Next morning my father found me there. He took me to a new job in a chicken abattoir. Luckily the girls had cleaned the blood off my face because there was no time for breakfast or a change of clothes. I worked like a machine all day and kept up with the regular workers. During lunch I sat alone. I couldn’t find a tap for drinking water. There was a drinks machine but I had no money. Later that day I collapsed and began jabbering wildly as my head imploded with pain. People told me I probably couldn’t stand all that death. I thought it was working in forty degree centigrade heat with no water and having had nothing to eat for several days after being concussed and losing several liters of blood but who knew?
I may tell the whole story of how I ended up face down in my own blood if I can remember it and its worth the telling