Wonderland Wanderess

I'm not sure what I expected, however, I know it wasn't this.  I've waited for anger, grief, bitterness; there is none.  A strange peace and acceptance continues to surround me.  What a complex and puzzling structure, the human mind can be.  How peculiar it is to be just as surprised by one's perception of and response to life events, as everybody else! It has been almost two months now since my womb and I parted ways.  I would like to say we parted as friends but that's poppycock—we've been mortal enemies for years, her and I.  Utey and I rarely saw eye to eye—embryos were planted in her fields and she rejected them, causing anaemia was her favourite game and as a side hobby, she knitted endometrium into her muscle walls, laughing hysterically, I'm sure, as her handmade-with-hate adenomyosis sweater dropped me to my knees in pain.  Yes, my uter-arsehole was a sadist, though I'll never forget her sweet side.  For twenty-seven months, out of the 378 month

  Trigger Warning: this short memoir contains graphic and candid recollections of a traumatic death.  It also discusses suicidal ideation and explores the darkest crevices of grief.  Some may find this content distressing.   Disclaimer: while the events and scenes of this memoir are all factual, the letters and dates have been fictionalised.  The dates are, however, my best estimate at the approximate point in time when each of these pivotal stages of my life occurred.     "The world was rumoured to be ending in 2012... in many ways, mine did."     05/02/2012 Surely this is a nightmare and soon I will awaken; you cannot truly be gone. I close my eyes and try to envision your once handsome face — those luscious lashes, twinkling brown eyes and gorgeous smile, framed with perfect olive skin—but that face is now gone, replaced with horror and gore. When I think of you, my mind conjures only the image of your battered face, bloody and disfigured; eyes closed, their sparkling ligh

  Introduction The writer acknowledges the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples as the traditional custodians of Australian land.   Respect is paid to the Elders, past and present.   With this respect in mind, some of the prime differences between a Western worldview and an Indigenous Australian worldview, particularly in the context of religion, will be examined.   Similarities will also be discussed.   Next, why these differences would have contributed to the frustration experienced by the First Nations people will be touched upon.   Finally, the resulting implications rendered on the freedom and control of the Indigenous Australians’ homeland will be analysed, the negative repercussions of which are still affecting generations of today.   It will be argued Australia should be relinquished back to an Indigenous supreme sovereignty.   Religion now plays a less significant role in society, yet at the time of European colonisation of Australia, religion seemingly differen

Introduction It could be said that “information poison” infects the mind of a reader like poison ivy, wrapping its noxious tendrils around fact and logic, leaving reality and fantasy intertwined. Consequently, countless reputations, careers and families are destroyed every day for the sake of clicks, sales and advertising revenue. A definition of what “information poison” is and the various guises it can assume, including misinformation, disinformation and mal-information will first be provided. An explanation of how this assortment of metaphorical toxins are spread will be discussed next. It will detail the roles that both the media and the public play in, not only the initial dissemination of information disorder, but also its inevitable proliferation. Following this, an examination of the possible social consequences of this “poisoning” will be undertaken. Finally, in addition to its contribution to the well of polluted information, the ways in which technology could provide a

Just when I think I have this body of mine figured out, it goes and knocks me for six!  After months of increased Endometriosis flare ups, sleepless nights and countless days spent writhing around my bed in agony, I knew I had to do something.  Living with chronic pain is emotionally draining and physically exhausting.  It's not living at all really... just existing. Endometriosis, or Endo as it is often called,  is a chronic illness with no known cause or cure, affecting 1 in every 10 women (World Endometriosis Society, 2020).  In women with this hereditary disease, tissue similar (but not identical) to the lining of the uterus grows throughout the pelvic cavity, on organs and the reproductive system.  In rare and more severe cases, Endometriosis has been found in every part of the body except the spleen!  This tissue breaks down and bleeds during the woman's monthly cycle, just as the endometrium does, only the Endometriosis tissue has no way of exiting the body- it just hang

For as long as I can remember, I have been intensely fond of reading, a lover of literature and a collector of books, both fiction and non-fiction.  This love affair I believe was partly borne of my difficult upbringing.  Books became my solace and my comfort in times of torment; a means of escape from a haunted reality...   When I wasn't reading, while most kids were preoccupied with the latest toys, I was pretending to be a librarian with a stack of books and a pen to scan the make-believe bar codes.  Does anybody else remember the old school scanner from the Toowoomba City Library that looked like a pen?!  I loved that thing!   Aside from my librarian play, I often dreamed of becoming a famous writer some day.  I knew if I was to be handed an unconditional wish that would enable me to be made into absolutely anything in the world, I would choose to be an author. ~     In 2005 I completed the first term of Year 11 before terminating my high school education at the age of 16.  My

Written on 17th March, 2018 In My Eyes: a journey through the years 5 years ago you were such a smart baby, So advanced in milestones, it amazed us daily! There were many lows but many more highs, You were perfect, in my eyes. 4 years ago you spoke in language well beyond your years, But owing to your naughtiness, I shed so many tears. No matter how dark the nights grew, the sun would always rise, It was all part of our journey and you were perfect, in my eyes. 3 years ago, your IQ rapidly grew, You'd go far in life, this we all knew. Why such poor behaviour, you were evidently wise, Despite my exhaustion, you were perfect, in my eyes. 2 years ago I thought, "I'm not sure I can do this any more..." "This kid is so smart, it has to be my parenting that's poor." Through the tears, the heartache and all the tough stuff, I loved you so much but was that really enough?! 1 year ago we learnt you have ADHD, Finally, I knew that it wasn't just me. You are gi

The first time stays with you; cemented in the crevices of your mind and plastered to the backs of your eyelids. Sometimes it's beneath darker shadows, or obscured with bright rays of sunlight. But it's always there.  The click of the doors locking reverberated throughout the building in time with the beating of my heart. That click continues its cursed echo in my mind even today.  You never forget the first time.   ~ It was 2007, I was 18 years old, and  my first involuntary treatment order was enforced (Mental Health Act 2000)  . Shame cloaked me and claustrophobia choked the air from my lungs as I realised I was, for lack of a better word, imprisoned; trapped against my will. All I wanted was to go home, but where was home?  I no longer knew. ~ " Bipolar robs you of that which is you. It can take from you the very core of your being and replace it with something that is completely opposite of who and what you truly are. Because my bipolar went untreated