That empty feeling .. TRIGGERS

This update is a bit odd, I know, but I have had my hackles raised and wounds opened after a couple of awful things that have happened in New Zealand and they've been broadcast widely.

How much do we take for granted, or more like, how much have we taken for granted and so maybe become a bit complacent?  Or you get trampled on like a doormat.

You swim along in a fairly comfortable manner, enjoying the status quo, and then all of a sudden, as if from nowhere, it all changes.  I've often wondered about the saying "you never know what is around the corner".  Would you like to know?  Sometimes I definitely would, and then I could prepare.

Recently we received dreadful news, shocking and sad news of a relative (62 yr old female) who was knocked off her bike by a 'hit and run' driver.  All too sudden and all too young.  It just isn't in the script.  No doubt the driver, a 42 yr old mother had / has significant problems of her own, but that is little comfort to her, my relatives family and husband.  It made me really worry about the same happening to me and I wondered how I would cope.  Ali is my best friend and I think we look after each other jolly well. The driver has been sentenced to 4 yrs in prison.  I hope she gets lots of help, guidance and therapy.

I think you know of the pine trees that have been planted next to us.  It's odd really that I worry about a few thousand pine trees as well as the suspicious behaviours of surveyors on our neighbours land.  I do wish the neighbour would tell us what he is up to; I really struggle with the element of surprise; it plays havoc with my anxiety levels.  I often tell myself its important to maintain a perspective.  

Ali has recently got back from visiting her lovely Mum, for her Mum's 90th birthday.  I collected the eggs.  One day I decided to count how many were in the tray - a mere 75.  Suddenly the food bank got a load as did lots of friends.  I emailed Ali to ask what was a safe number of eggs to eat per day.  Apparently it's one.

I like to think that complacency is less than it was.  Rough waters are to be avoided when ever possible. Not having sufficient sympathy for someone who is finding life difficult is not a characteristic I want to develop.  I hate that phrase of either "I know how you feel" or "I know what you are going through".  In either case those phrases are meaningless word soup bollocks.

Triggers ......  I've been triggered!

Here in NZ there is hoohaaa.  There has been what to me has been a pretty empty apology to thousands of  survivors of Government institutional physical, sexual and emotional child abuse, as well as degrees of horrific torture at a place called Lake Alice, as well as under state care in faith based institutions.  A lot of this was happening between about 1970 and 1976 so as you can see, pretty recently.  There is the shocking coincidence that this happened at the same time that similar horrible treatment of vulnerable members of society was happening in UK.  Today I hear that Archbishop Welby has resigned and says his decision to resign "is made in the best interests of the Church of England" - making no mention at all of the survivors of years of abuse under the roof of the church of England and a truly dreadful man with the name of Smyth. 

The NZ government has made a 'formal apology' and said how very wrong it all was.  ECT with no consent or sedation.  I kid you not.  The NZ government has recently seen fit to introduce 'boot camps' for certain youths and whilst apologising to one group of people they actually say that it is permissible to use physical force against the boot camp inmates.  It feels like they've missed the irony.

It's been difficult.  I read of 1 child who was dropped off, stood on the stairs of the institution clutching his teddy bear crying and crying.  A door opened, in he was taken and the door was locked behind him.  I was sent off to a boarding school when I was about 6.  I too recall screaming and shouting at the end of school holidays.  Once I tried to run away, but my Mum was in the drivers seat of the car, whilst my Dad caught me, picked me up and bundled me in the car, the door was locked and off I was taken to go to the school again, not to see my parents again until the next school holiday.  There were half term breaks but they rarely came to see me.  I'd have to spend the half term with another family.  On one occasion I had no other family to stay with, so I was alone in the school with a few teachers around.  I can't remember what I did during those long days by myself.  I do remember sleeping alone in a dormitory. Alone in the dormitory block.

We'd be caned across the bum.  The maths teacher would bring the cane to class.  I'm neither the most confident of people nor the cleverest.  I hated school; all of it.  I'd get beaten with the cane if I gave an incorrect answer to the question.  "Le Mare, what is 6x7"? he'd shout. I had no idea, I was 7 and I'm not bright.  I must have assumed a guess was better than not knowing; I picked a number out of the air.  It was wrong.  "Le Mare, come here, bend over" a stinging, bruising sometimes bleeding whack with a bamboo cane was meant to make me know.  Only the boys got caned.  I then had to go and sit on 'the wall' at lunchtime under the midday Kenyan sun and learn my 6 times table and go every lunchtime until I could recount it.  Meanwhile all my 'friends' were playing.

                                                 Something like that.

Us thickos would often get a report card.  At the end of the class we had to report to the teacher who would either give us an 'S', satisfactory, and we'd breath a sigh of relief, or 'NS', not satisfactory.  An 'NS' resulted in 3 whacks across the bum with the cane at lunchtime, and the rest of the lunch break being bloody miserable, often alone and in pain.  Three 'NSs' in a week resulted in another report card the following week and inevitably more bum bruising beatings.  Leaving home when I was 6 and only going back at 16 for 2 years, after my siblings had left I'm sure contributed to never getting to know them.

But a perspective must be maintained.  There were masses and masses of amazing experiences that I had as a result of living in Uganda and Tanzania.  Trips across the Serengeti and going home around Lake Victoria on a De Havilland Rapide, DC 3s, on the huge steam trains run by East African Railways and Harbours, and the little boats on Lake Victoria which took 2 nights.  The Sybil and the MV Victoria 

 

I left school having got myself through by not being bad at sport.  I was hopelessly thick.  English, geography and woodwork grade 6 'o' level was my crowning achievement.  At 17 I lived at home for 2 years to retake all my 'O' and 'A' levels - and passed.

My only really successful 3 years of education was when I went to St Martins College, aged 32, to learn to be a radiographer.  With Ali's amazing nurturing and help, for the first time ever I discovered that learning could be enjoyable.  What a revelation.

 

Even until I was 18 I never got over homesickness and not being at home.  We'd get beaten and caned for talking after lights out.  I would often burrow, under the bed clothes to the foot of the bed and cry and whimper myself to sleep.  Noise was a punishable offence, more beatings.

Now I live in a delightful patch or paradise, almost as a bit of a recluse, but not really.   

Of course I still go to town and meet people.  We wave our Palestinian flags every Wednesday and organise a medical aid fundraiser for Palestine.  The present project is to try an get a grant for an AED at the tennis club.  When asked I happily help at the tennis club, cutting the grass or driving the roller.   

I don't do committees; I steer clear of any potentially contentious stuff.  I'm a 'middle of the road' person, which also means that I am often a real doormat.  I allow awful bad and bullying behaviour to happen unless it is just completely off my 'morally right scale' when I'll challenge it, but I hate such challenges.

I hated, upon hated the institution of boarding school.  Those big open plan bathrooms with a row of baths; the same water remained in the bath, 2 to a bath for a prescribed time, out you got and 2 more got in.  From the stripes of bruises across child's bums you could see who had been whacked that week.  In the early stages of the bruise recovery you can imagine it stung like a viscous nettle sting. 

At the Quaker school in Essex, those rows of 'bogs' with no doors on them.  I now hate public toilets.

The institution of boarding school was awful, I hated it.  Academically I was unsuccessful and at 18 when my 'O' level results arrived, I didn't even care that I'd failed pretty much everything.  Most Sundays I would cycle 36 miles to where my Mum and Dad lived, only to have to be returned to school a few hours later.  I suspect I did it more to screw up their weekends, than to give me great pleasure.

We are starting to get to the time of year where the vegetables are growing well.  Look at the cauliflowers.  The fennel is noted as the largest in the world, and lots of seeds that I have sewn are germinating.

 

 

Ah yes, Essex.  Since the day I left I have been back to Essex once.  I went back to the school to see my friends after I had left.  The head master appeared, "Le Mare, have you got permission to be on these premises"?  "Errrr no, I didn't know I had to have".  "Well you do, please leave immediately".  That was the last time I ever went to Essex.  On one occasion when going from Coventry to Norwich we had to take a massive detour to avoid the place.  Ali was driving, I was navigating.  Eventually she asked why it was taking so long.  It took a lot of explaining.  

We went south via Cambridge.

The school finally went bust, I think.  Sad SOS (Save Our School) emails were sent out from the school and Old Scholars.  Sadly my reply was unashamedly trite.  I simply said that it was a shame it hadn't happened 50 years earlier, and if they were looking for someone to light a blue touch paper I'd be happy to be the one".  I never got a reply.

As you all know, I get constant therapy talking to my 7 therapists.  I have therapy every day with sheeps and chickens and we agree on so much.  Occasionally when we don't agree Lambrusco looks at me, sniffs, waggles his ears and walks off.  I'm trying that.  Next time I can't be bothered with the conversation I'll just leave.  If questioned I'll say "It's what my therapist does".  

 

Sheep therapy and the therapists.

This time of hearing about emotional, physical and sexual (yes, that happened to me as well but I'm sparing you the detail; fortunately it didn't happen at school) in institutions who should be caring for the young and vulnerable in both the UK and NZ has really rattled my cage and upset me.  I hate being metaphorically battered and bullied.  I get anxious about things, even if I can do nothing about them.

At the young and vulnerable age of about 8 I had a penetrating eye injury which resulted in acute glaucoma and 2 weeks in the school sick bay.  Shortly after that I was taken about 200 miles by the school secretary to Nairobi where I was an inpatient for 3 weeks at 'Gertrude's Garden Children's Hospital'.  An iridectomy was performed after a while.  On the night of my operation my Mum arrived as I was coming out of theatre.  As I recall she stayed a few days, after that on discharge, I went to stay with a family near Nairobi, so I could be close to the hospital for follow up.  My parents were in Uganda.  I went back to school and then finally at holiday time I went home!  My Mum was with me for 2 or 3 days during the whole event of about 8 weeks.

I was sent away from home at 6, after that I spent no significant time living with my parents and siblings.  They did spend time together in the homely family environment.  Maybe that explains a lot why I am the family ectopic/outcast.

The next rather serious irritation going on at present is as a result of having a very right wing, almost johnsonian/Trussian/Trumpian, but marginally less extreme government.  It's back to the cam-moron /osborne days of cuts, more cuts and even more cuts, endless public service redundancies and simplistic populist politics.  The big issue at present is a guy called David Seymour who has introduced a race bating bill to parliament wanting to redefine the Treaty of Waitangi.  It is creating such division - think brexit.  There is a massive march the length of the North island taking about 12 days, amassing in Wellington on Tuesday.  His belief is that everyone should be equal, but he never enters conversation when people point out that that'll never be possible; the Maori and Pacifica part of society have appalling housing, consequently dreadful health and think earning money is more important than going to school.  These groups have a dreadful incidence of child abuse and child mortality.  There is a huge incidence of child crime and 'ram raiding' shops, indeed last night an ATM adjoining a very popular café had a front end loader driven into but when the guy didn't succeed he hopped off and ran away.  

                                                                       I like it that we are told the "post box is not in use"!!
The other coalition party have repealed the previous Government's 'Smoke Free 2025' legislation, and are actually promoting the use of vapes.  The Minister of Health is a GP and associate minister lobbied by Philip Morris!!

   

It was estimated about 40000 attended.

Abandonment and poor treatment in formative years on a lot of these abused people almost certainly plays havoc with relationships, behaviour and friendships in later life.  The travails of life have certainly taught me a thing or 2.  I'd tell my younger self to put up a stronger fight and not be such a doormat.  It is all the more disappointing when one is let down by friends and family; those that you expect and hope you can trust.

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 I'm pleased that my musings are getting read by a few people.

It's lovely that some of you email, as a reply to them.  I love to hear from you.

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There is an opportunity for people to comment directly to the edition you are reading on the blog page.

It's lovely that some of you do.

Here is the request: 

It comes through as a 'no reply' email address, and if you post as 'anonymous' of course I don't know who has sent it and then I can't reply.  It displays as 'unknown' on the comments page.

The last 'unknown simply said "Thanks for the update. I hope you both stay well and warm!"

Please can you NOT reply as anonymous.

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Hahaha, I used to do it on a message board and my Dad identified me and told me off!!  I was told that if I was going to make comment I should have the 'balls' to take ownership.

Thanks!