Wonderland Wanderess

No human being is entirely good or entirely bad and my father was no exception to this.  Amidst attempted abductions, over a decade of stalking, countless Domestic Violence Orders, alcohol induced rages, bitter custody battles, supervised visitations at contact centres and terrifying untreated mental illness, was the man who did not once hesitate to order seafood pizzas for me, all the while knowing I would eat nothing, but the teensy-weensy baby octopuses off them.     Beneath the outward portrayal of toughness was the dad who took his children to Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meetings and church so we could see he was trying.  Masked by the facade of a performance he had mentally cast himself in as "Father of the Year", was the manic yes-man, in all his grandiose glory, who saw no problem with allowing his son to ride in the boot of the car at his request to, nor with doing doughnuts and burn-outs in the middle of public parks—never mind the blood noses from our faces const

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