Wonderland Wanderess

When the devil can’t reach you, he sends a narcissist.   —Romario   THIS IS A PRISONER’S TEXT.   This is a prisoner’s text, composed in a reality that is no longer my own. My mind feeds on incessant untruths, fed to it by my captor, the one who loves me the most.   This is a prisoner’s text birthed by lust and madness, weaved into a web of deception that keeps me snug and warm.   This is a prisoner’s text, written by an anguished hand which no longer possesses the will to live. It is too late. I am too far gone. Yet, live I must.   This is a prisoner’s text, but if you are reading it, it is already too late; I am already gone. These are words on a page that will soon float as freely on the wind, as the ashes of my corpse.   This was a prisoner’s text; a plea to my jailer; a voice for the voiceless; wings for the fallen.   This is an ex-prisoner’s text, the parting words of a homicide victim. This is a ghost’s wail; a butterfly’s whisper; the soft breeze that kisses your neck on a warm

    It is August, 2021 and I am embarking on the first of a series of field trips to Hartmann Park, located in the small township of Crows Nest, Queensland. I descend into the rugged bush with awkward, jarring steps, down a steep bitumen incline, my left hand gripping the metal railing and my right, clutching the strap of my bulky, grey messenger bag. I am struck by the memory of a fictional book I read in Grade 8 English class, Tomorrow, when the war began (1993). This book is part of a series that tells the story of seven youths who embark on a camping trip in remote bush, referred to by town locals as 'Hell'. The group return to find Australia at war (Marsden 1993). In that moment, I realise that Hartmann Park reminds me of the 'Hell' Marsden describes in the Tomorrow series (1993–1999). I enjoyed these books immensely as a teen, perhaps owing to the subconscious tie I bound them to Hartmann Park with. As I continue trekking into the bowels of the Earth, I stroll fu

  Friday, 3rd June, 2022 Dad's Funeral  Written and read by me Dear Dad,   The old saying goes, ‘It’s better to be late, than dead on time’ … but what happens when it’s both? It breaks my heart to know you left this world without knowing the noise within my mind.   I spent most of my life on an incessant quest to fill the enormous hole inside me, never truly grasping that nothing would ever fit right, because that hole, was shaped like you.   I recall feeling invincible atop your shoulders as a tiny girl; and if I close my eyes, I can still feel your arms around me as a woman—the prodigal daughter—returned to you at last.   This was our dance and we both knew our parts so well. Yet the right words were never said. In the end, each of us slipped further and further away from each other.   But your burden is no longer yours to carry. You are home now, at peace, safe in Nanna’s arms once more.   Rest easy, Dad. I love you.   Forever and always, Your daughte

  Conflict will either unite, or divide.  Destruction lingers on the winds accompanying it, as death lingers in the hearts of those who have loved and lost. See, the thing about loss is that it will either strengthen, or shatter; harden, or soften. We fight to hold on, and we fight to let go. Hardships are fire to be wielded as either a sword of flames, or the fuel which burns down empires. But the ashes of fallen empires form the mortar to construct the most indestructible and impenetrable of fortresses. The builders of these safe havens harbour every stone and stick ever thrown their way; bank them in silos, awaiting the day their resilience is called upon to serve their fellow humans. The warriors of empathy as they are cannot be perturbed by falsely hateful words. They are comprised only of love, waiting patiently in the dark for the lost to join them in the light. They do not give up and refuse to walk away. As Martin Luther King once said, "You cannot drive out darkness with

  White privilege is one of the major contributing factors of intergenerational trauma for Indigenous Australians. The story of Laurie Stewart and his family will be the focus in illustrating this. Firstly, a definition of white privilege   is provided. Next, the     poor physical health outcomes associated with intergenerational trauma are analysed. Following this, the mental health impacts will be visited. Statistics denoting over-representation of Indigenous children in the child protection system demonstrate white privilege and systemic racism are an ongoing problem. Finally, the importance of Indigenous Australians in government positions is emphasised. It will be argued that white privilege is a significant component of Indigenous intergenerational trauma. This white privilege, and the inequality it engenders, must be addressed as part of the trauma healing process.   To recognise and remedy the issue of white privilege, it must first be understood

    Generalised anxiety disorder (GAD) is a psychiatric illness comprised of mental and physical symptoms dovetailing from an overarching presentation of uncontrollable worry (Salzer et al., 2011)). Other symptoms include disturbed sleep, inability to concentrate, tense muscles, irritable mood, fatigue, and restlessness. With a lifetime prevalence of 4.3–5.9%, GAD is common and is rarely sufficiently treated in primary care settings, such as general practice, resulting in significant medical costs. These include specialist fees, medication, therapies, and hospital admissions. Additional societal and individual costs include loss of productivity, sick leave, and government benefits. Due to its chronic nature and high recurrence rate (Cuijpers et al., 2014)), an evaluation of the efficacy of current treatment options is necessary. Three treatments will be analysed to determine the most advantageous option for patients with GAD. The selected treatments are intensive short-term dynamic psy