In The Beginning Was The Word
Without Prejudice
To understand where I am now I have to go back to the beginning. My journey of words began with a newsletter I wrote for my Brother. He wanted to send a message to his Franchisees, conveying a message. He had an idea to incorporate a saying an old dear friend had given him in his short lifetime.
I hadnt written in twenty or so years and his request was simple to me. I wrote what he wanted in half an hour and he read it and said,
"You should go home and WRITE"
I muttered a reply
"Write what?"
"Write about your ex husband, he was funny and a character"
We sat in his hot tub and reminisced about the old days.
"You are fucking brilliant", he said.
At the time I thought he was mad and I went home and did nothing. I had been to Camp Eden, written my 3 goals for the next twelve months, basically never believing they could come to fruition .
Once back at home I knew Camp Eden would follow me up on my goals and didn't expect my brother to, as well. But a month later both of them rang and I realised that I was not on the path to any of them. I had allowed life to get in the way as it does.
But more to please them, I began to write stories. as my brother had suggested. I wrote the first one about Paris and my ex husband being deported from there for losing his cool at Orly Airport, being arrested and the ire that he felt. And it went from there.
As time went on I realised that I would have to write about things I no longer wanted to remember. My sad childhoos when my older, James died. My Mums mental illness and suicide at age 53. My Dad, who I had hero worshipped, also sadly dead, the music that filled our lives. And the one I had been dreading the most, the death of my daughter aged 12.
That was agonising to write but I wrote it, with tears and snot running down my face. And one day my other Brother rang and he said the two brothers had read them together one Saturday Morning in Queensland and cried. I was puzzled, why were they crying ?
But every day as Steven King advised I sat at my computer and wrote. And wrote. The memories came thick and fast. And one day several months later I stood up and thought,
"I've lost weight, in fact a lot of weight"
And it was true. I began the first story in October and by December I was suddenly skinny. That was another one of ny three goals from Camp Eden, also I thought unobtainable. I had been 84 kilos for about twenty years.
But skinny I was. I would only eat fruit whule I was writing and it was summer fruit season with its plump peaches, nectarines, plums. I used to cut up a bowl of fruit and continue to write. It wasn't messy and I would start early in the morning and finish at 2pm. Then I would have dry crackers and protein such as egg, tuna or cheese, topped with tomato or cucumber.
I made it all about healthy eating, NOT about losing weight. And I began to move, the more weight I lost the more I moved. If I had to hang washing out I would make three trips. If I had to go into the main house to my daughter and kids I would make many trips instead of just one. Every day I danced. Just put a CD on and danced like a loon around the lounge room.
All through the summer I wrote and ate healthy and just before I went to Queensland for my yearly sojourn away from winter in Melbourne and up to the warmth I was weighed bu the doctor and I was 58 kilos. I had no bust to speak of, they , my breasts had turned into shrunken heads from Papua New Guinea, but I didn't care.
The sheer freedom of being to wear what I wanted was soooo exciting. I bought coloured jeans, brightly coloured dresses and tops. High, high heels. I had my hair cut the way I wanted. And while in Queensland realised that after twenty years of being invisible I was starting to attract male attention. In a good way. I was rocking.
I went into a shop in Redcliffe and the lady told me I was tiny to fit. I was filled with elation. I spent three months in Quuensland and wrute and wrote, the habit now formed and firmed. And then I received an email from a lady via my story blog and she also had winter depression and reached out to me. I was delighted. I bonded more than ever with my brothers, We found that things had not changed for us. We were still the same kids we always were.
I was still angry however, especially towards men and I was still angry that I had a child die and had no way of dealing with it. I turned a milestone birthday when I arrived home and had no great desire to do so. I was just angry.
Then on my birthday I had a shattering thing happen. A man I had hero worshipped became angry with me and screamed and yelled at me and slapped me across the face. To say I was shattered was the understatement of the century. He didn't even remember doing it, he said he was drunk. I was a bit tipsy myself and had shared a joint in celebration.
I then became despondent and felt victimised and then Jill Meagher died. That lovely pretty woman died, murdered and raped and I was sickened. The whole world was. So I was still angry and hurt and instead of turning it outward I turned it inward. And although still writing I then began a cycle of six weeks of extreme illness.
I hurt my back, impatiently moving logs for the garden, not waiting for a male member of the house to help. (After all males were useless to me ). I had never been in constant pain before and I ignored it and assumed it would get better all by itself. Then one day out of the blue I suddenly decided that the world would be better off without me.
Luckily my Mother came into my head and instead of doing anything about my sorry arsed attitude I rang an ambulance. I was rushed to hospital and cried for three hours. They gently explained to me I was having a breakdown and it had been exacerbated by the constant pain I had been in. From that I was given help and advise, referred to a psych and a physio.
The psych was the same man I had seen when my daughter first died. And what a journey it had been since I last saw him. He had counselled me to tell my violent ex hubby to leave 23 years before. He had ensured out of spite that I was left with nothing but my girls. And that is all I had wanted. Just as long as he was no longer in my life I was happy.
And he counselled me again, but for me this time, all about me. And I listened. Things I had taken on became no longer my problem. I was no longer living my daughters lives, shielding them from hurt. I was forced to look at my life, as a child, as an adult. And forming my answers for me at last. The duaghters remaining were all fine in their lives. I had ensured that.
All my girls are tough, good looking happy stable and I, the martyr, was a mess. So I began the long slow journey back to me. Back to Janette, the child, the teenager, the young Mother, 4 kids at 24, the adult, now the grandmother and great Grandmother. Janette, the friend, Janette, the sister, the daughter, the adult, the senior.
The therapy was the best thing that happened to me. I am no longer angry. I am more proactive than reactive. And I am happy, so very happy and content. Because along the way I found me again.Just Janette, warts and all. I know my shortcomings, impatience I am still working on. But I found that I quite liked me and I didnt really suffer fools that well.
Just like my Mother.
I forgave my Mum for being mentally ill. I realised she couldn't help it. I realised that my Dad, quiet and affable as he was, was the real mover and shaker in the family.
That as a child I had not had the perfect childhood that I liked to say I had and made excuses to other people for as they had not been as happy.
That after Jamie had died I had retreated into my own room, my own world, one of imagination. That My sister and I had not been close, my Mother and I had not been close. I felt that only my Dad understood me and made allowances for me and that anxiety and dread had become a way of living for me my entire life.
My happy childhood was a myth. I might have felt loved and cared for but my childhood was insecure and unstable and mostly frightening. I didn't have the confidence that my siblings had. I lived in a world of animals on river banks and midnight feasts in English boarding schools
I was Jo in Little Women. I was George in the Famous Five. I was the little match girl standing in the snow.
And I went back to those days, the days of "secrets" when we couldn't tell, couldn't discuss, couldn't have a voice. We hid when the debtors came or out right lied that Ernie Bruckshaw didn't live at our house while Dad hid in another room. That Jamie somehow never existed as we were forbidden to talk about him in case we upset Mum.
All the myths of my happy childhood were exploded in the sessions spent with the psych and once again I had to deal with them. I had to stop looking for my Father in the relarionships I had formed. The ever perfect, ever giving, ever affectionate Dad.
And that is where I am now. Newborn, naked, no props to hold me up. Just me, Just Janette and I have discovered that I like her. I like Janette and her bravery and her love for others and her natural instinct to love. I love but am wary, am shy but proud. And I will talk about things instead of bottling them up. I will get angry and say NO and mean it. I will no longer be a people pleaser for the sake pf peace.
I realise my ex husband was suffering from a certain ilness but he could have been better. He wasn't. He was criticical and harsh and still is and I sincerely hope he rots in hell. If he dies I won't be going to his funeral, once a bastard in life, that does not change in death. His parents were wonderful, his siblings too. He was is and will always be just a bastard because he likes to be.
My oldest daughter said she had inherited his genrosity, once, what genorosity ?? Was he generous to me and his family of girls in the end. Were all his long hours spent away from the Family for us, as he told us, or for him. In the end it was for him. And I believe he will punish me till the day I die for daring to reject him. He always told me that. That if I ever left him he would hurt me. He hasn't. Everything I do is in spite of him. Just as everything Mladenka ever achieved was one in the eye for her Dad who had no time for her.
I have discovered that I really like men and always have, I don't fear their power. I feel as strong as them and can take the bad ones down with a vengeance. They don't like me for it but I don't care, they don't have to. I have a gentle boy Man and he will do for me what no other man can.
He will protect me and has, he will love me and has and he will comfort me when I am sad and has. And for the rest of my days whether I end up with him or someone else I will always be glad he was in my life. A gentle giant that put all my theories of men right out the window.
Its back to me, up to me, my life. I have come full circle in life and I am still curious, have things I want to achieve and have set three more goals for the next 12 months. I am fit, I am skinny, I am brown and lie in bed at night and feel my shoulder bones. I teach, I advise, I help and that is better than any new handbag or dress. I help.
There is always hope, there is always the work, there is always something to solve, to analyse, to search, to love. And in the beginning was the word or words and they have fed me, released me and comforted me when nothing else can.
I have learned to sya no to the nay sayers, I have leaned who to trust and who not to. I have learned I can't "fix" everyone. I can only "fix" me and that is OK. And for the rest of my life I will be grateful. There is something "else" that sustains us, there is something else that moves us to be better human beings, to strive longer and never give up. That is love, however we view it and love and understanding conquers most everything,
There is nobility, there is bravery, there is friendship and there is "soul". I began the journey as a non believer and now I believe and that, my friends, my readers is better than anything. Love Janette
To understand where I am now I have to go back to the beginning. My journey of words began with a newsletter I wrote for my Brother. He wanted to send a message to his Franchisees, conveying a message. He had an idea to incorporate a saying an old dear friend had given him in his short lifetime.
I hadnt written in twenty or so years and his request was simple to me. I wrote what he wanted in half an hour and he read it and said,
"You should go home and WRITE"
I muttered a reply
"Write what?"
"Write about your ex husband, he was funny and a character"
We sat in his hot tub and reminisced about the old days.
"You are fucking brilliant", he said.
At the time I thought he was mad and I went home and did nothing. I had been to Camp Eden, written my 3 goals for the next twelve months, basically never believing they could come to fruition .
Once back at home I knew Camp Eden would follow me up on my goals and didn't expect my brother to, as well. But a month later both of them rang and I realised that I was not on the path to any of them. I had allowed life to get in the way as it does.
But more to please them, I began to write stories. as my brother had suggested. I wrote the first one about Paris and my ex husband being deported from there for losing his cool at Orly Airport, being arrested and the ire that he felt. And it went from there.
As time went on I realised that I would have to write about things I no longer wanted to remember. My sad childhoos when my older, James died. My Mums mental illness and suicide at age 53. My Dad, who I had hero worshipped, also sadly dead, the music that filled our lives. And the one I had been dreading the most, the death of my daughter aged 12.
That was agonising to write but I wrote it, with tears and snot running down my face. And one day my other Brother rang and he said the two brothers had read them together one Saturday Morning in Queensland and cried. I was puzzled, why were they crying ?
But every day as Steven King advised I sat at my computer and wrote. And wrote. The memories came thick and fast. And one day several months later I stood up and thought,
"I've lost weight, in fact a lot of weight"
And it was true. I began the first story in October and by December I was suddenly skinny. That was another one of ny three goals from Camp Eden, also I thought unobtainable. I had been 84 kilos for about twenty years.
But skinny I was. I would only eat fruit whule I was writing and it was summer fruit season with its plump peaches, nectarines, plums. I used to cut up a bowl of fruit and continue to write. It wasn't messy and I would start early in the morning and finish at 2pm. Then I would have dry crackers and protein such as egg, tuna or cheese, topped with tomato or cucumber.
I made it all about healthy eating, NOT about losing weight. And I began to move, the more weight I lost the more I moved. If I had to hang washing out I would make three trips. If I had to go into the main house to my daughter and kids I would make many trips instead of just one. Every day I danced. Just put a CD on and danced like a loon around the lounge room.
All through the summer I wrote and ate healthy and just before I went to Queensland for my yearly sojourn away from winter in Melbourne and up to the warmth I was weighed bu the doctor and I was 58 kilos. I had no bust to speak of, they , my breasts had turned into shrunken heads from Papua New Guinea, but I didn't care.
The sheer freedom of being to wear what I wanted was soooo exciting. I bought coloured jeans, brightly coloured dresses and tops. High, high heels. I had my hair cut the way I wanted. And while in Queensland realised that after twenty years of being invisible I was starting to attract male attention. In a good way. I was rocking.
I went into a shop in Redcliffe and the lady told me I was tiny to fit. I was filled with elation. I spent three months in Quuensland and wrute and wrote, the habit now formed and firmed. And then I received an email from a lady via my story blog and she also had winter depression and reached out to me. I was delighted. I bonded more than ever with my brothers, We found that things had not changed for us. We were still the same kids we always were.
I was still angry however, especially towards men and I was still angry that I had a child die and had no way of dealing with it. I turned a milestone birthday when I arrived home and had no great desire to do so. I was just angry.
Then on my birthday I had a shattering thing happen. A man I had hero worshipped became angry with me and screamed and yelled at me and slapped me across the face. To say I was shattered was the understatement of the century. He didn't even remember doing it, he said he was drunk. I was a bit tipsy myself and had shared a joint in celebration.
I then became despondent and felt victimised and then Jill Meagher died. That lovely pretty woman died, murdered and raped and I was sickened. The whole world was. So I was still angry and hurt and instead of turning it outward I turned it inward. And although still writing I then began a cycle of six weeks of extreme illness.
I hurt my back, impatiently moving logs for the garden, not waiting for a male member of the house to help. (After all males were useless to me ). I had never been in constant pain before and I ignored it and assumed it would get better all by itself. Then one day out of the blue I suddenly decided that the world would be better off without me.
Luckily my Mother came into my head and instead of doing anything about my sorry arsed attitude I rang an ambulance. I was rushed to hospital and cried for three hours. They gently explained to me I was having a breakdown and it had been exacerbated by the constant pain I had been in. From that I was given help and advise, referred to a psych and a physio.
The psych was the same man I had seen when my daughter first died. And what a journey it had been since I last saw him. He had counselled me to tell my violent ex hubby to leave 23 years before. He had ensured out of spite that I was left with nothing but my girls. And that is all I had wanted. Just as long as he was no longer in my life I was happy.
And he counselled me again, but for me this time, all about me. And I listened. Things I had taken on became no longer my problem. I was no longer living my daughters lives, shielding them from hurt. I was forced to look at my life, as a child, as an adult. And forming my answers for me at last. The duaghters remaining were all fine in their lives. I had ensured that.
All my girls are tough, good looking happy stable and I, the martyr, was a mess. So I began the long slow journey back to me. Back to Janette, the child, the teenager, the young Mother, 4 kids at 24, the adult, now the grandmother and great Grandmother. Janette, the friend, Janette, the sister, the daughter, the adult, the senior.
The therapy was the best thing that happened to me. I am no longer angry. I am more proactive than reactive. And I am happy, so very happy and content. Because along the way I found me again.Just Janette, warts and all. I know my shortcomings, impatience I am still working on. But I found that I quite liked me and I didnt really suffer fools that well.
Just like my Mother.
I forgave my Mum for being mentally ill. I realised she couldn't help it. I realised that my Dad, quiet and affable as he was, was the real mover and shaker in the family.
That as a child I had not had the perfect childhood that I liked to say I had and made excuses to other people for as they had not been as happy.
That after Jamie had died I had retreated into my own room, my own world, one of imagination. That My sister and I had not been close, my Mother and I had not been close. I felt that only my Dad understood me and made allowances for me and that anxiety and dread had become a way of living for me my entire life.
My happy childhood was a myth. I might have felt loved and cared for but my childhood was insecure and unstable and mostly frightening. I didn't have the confidence that my siblings had. I lived in a world of animals on river banks and midnight feasts in English boarding schools
I was Jo in Little Women. I was George in the Famous Five. I was the little match girl standing in the snow.
And I went back to those days, the days of "secrets" when we couldn't tell, couldn't discuss, couldn't have a voice. We hid when the debtors came or out right lied that Ernie Bruckshaw didn't live at our house while Dad hid in another room. That Jamie somehow never existed as we were forbidden to talk about him in case we upset Mum.
All the myths of my happy childhood were exploded in the sessions spent with the psych and once again I had to deal with them. I had to stop looking for my Father in the relarionships I had formed. The ever perfect, ever giving, ever affectionate Dad.
And that is where I am now. Newborn, naked, no props to hold me up. Just me, Just Janette and I have discovered that I like her. I like Janette and her bravery and her love for others and her natural instinct to love. I love but am wary, am shy but proud. And I will talk about things instead of bottling them up. I will get angry and say NO and mean it. I will no longer be a people pleaser for the sake pf peace.
I realise my ex husband was suffering from a certain ilness but he could have been better. He wasn't. He was criticical and harsh and still is and I sincerely hope he rots in hell. If he dies I won't be going to his funeral, once a bastard in life, that does not change in death. His parents were wonderful, his siblings too. He was is and will always be just a bastard because he likes to be.
My oldest daughter said she had inherited his genrosity, once, what genorosity ?? Was he generous to me and his family of girls in the end. Were all his long hours spent away from the Family for us, as he told us, or for him. In the end it was for him. And I believe he will punish me till the day I die for daring to reject him. He always told me that. That if I ever left him he would hurt me. He hasn't. Everything I do is in spite of him. Just as everything Mladenka ever achieved was one in the eye for her Dad who had no time for her.
I have discovered that I really like men and always have, I don't fear their power. I feel as strong as them and can take the bad ones down with a vengeance. They don't like me for it but I don't care, they don't have to. I have a gentle boy Man and he will do for me what no other man can.
He will protect me and has, he will love me and has and he will comfort me when I am sad and has. And for the rest of my days whether I end up with him or someone else I will always be glad he was in my life. A gentle giant that put all my theories of men right out the window.
Its back to me, up to me, my life. I have come full circle in life and I am still curious, have things I want to achieve and have set three more goals for the next 12 months. I am fit, I am skinny, I am brown and lie in bed at night and feel my shoulder bones. I teach, I advise, I help and that is better than any new handbag or dress. I help.
There is always hope, there is always the work, there is always something to solve, to analyse, to search, to love. And in the beginning was the word or words and they have fed me, released me and comforted me when nothing else can.
I have learned to sya no to the nay sayers, I have leaned who to trust and who not to. I have learned I can't "fix" everyone. I can only "fix" me and that is OK. And for the rest of my life I will be grateful. There is something "else" that sustains us, there is something else that moves us to be better human beings, to strive longer and never give up. That is love, however we view it and love and understanding conquers most everything,
There is nobility, there is bravery, there is friendship and there is "soul". I began the journey as a non believer and now I believe and that, my friends, my readers is better than anything. Love Janette
