Wherefore, honest and wise men and women should be sought for diligently.

(The day before the Septmber 2013 Australian Federal Election, I made the following post on Facebook. I post it here for my own historical records.)

I was asked by a friend yesterday - and so there is no misunderstanding, Dermot, I still consider you a friend - "Are you a Labor voter Colin?" I guess recent comments I had made suggested to him this was the case.

My immediate response was a somewhat flippant "I am not and have never been a member of the Communist party. I do not and have not adhered to the tenets of the Communist party. * * * I have never followed the Communist party line." If you don't get the reference, look it up.

However, it has since got me thinking. In my lifetime I have had the opportunity and privilege of exercising my democratic right in this great country, and this great state, nine times on a national level, seven times on a state level, and I believe I have never missed a local council election during my "Eligible to Vote" lifetime.

During that time have I ever voted for a Labor candidate?
Indeed, I have.

During that time have I ever voted for a Liberal candidate?
I have, yes.

During that time have I ever voted for a Green candidate?
Yes indeed.

During that time have I ever voted for a Democrat candidate?
For sure, and I miss them!

During that time have I ever voted for an independent candidate?
Certainly.

So what does that make me, politically? It makes me someone who endeavours to follow this (to some, familiar) tenant:

"Nevertheless, when the wicked rule the people mourn.
Wherefore, honest men and wise men should be sought for diligently, and good men and wise men ye should observe to uphold; otherwise whatsoever is less than these cometh of evil."

For those who recognised this tenant, you would understand why I believe this to be a God-given mandate, so:

During that time have I ever made a donkey vote?
Absolutely not! That's not seeking diligently! Has it been easy to find such persons? Sometimes, sometimes not. But I believe God expects it of me to diligently try. It has also resulted on occasion voting for a candidate in my electorate who does NOT belong to the party I'd prefer to win, due to the fact that they match the mandate, but the candidate in my electorate representing my preferred party does not!

Is someone who is honest and wise to me going to appear the same to someone else? I certainly don't expect that to be the case.

So, I hope that that may shed some light on my political stance.
And just to clarify for you literalists out there, champing at the sexist bit regarding the above tenant:

During that time have I ever voted for a female candidate?
Absolutely!

May you all seek diligently your honest and wise candidates before you vote tomorrow.

Cheers!

After Two and A Half Years...

For more than two and a half years I have been doing what once I would have considered inconceivable. For the first year consisting of two visits a week, then once a week,  I have been seeing a psychotherapist.

On Tuesday,  the twenty-fourth of September, I had my final visit. I said farewell to someone who has become a dear friend, and now knows more about me than I know about myself. She is moving interstate and so, like a bird with a once-broken wing, I am being set loose into the wilds.

I have such mixed emotions right now, but things are good. I have changed a lot over the time I've been seeing Lizanne; I am certainly not the dazed, confused, and outright suicidal blubbering mess that presented at her door the day before being admitted to hospital.

But some things haven't changed.

I  still  struggle with major anxiety, being prone to panic attacks at totally unpredictable times. I wish I could do a brain switch with those who cannot comprehend how real these are. The bouts of depression certainly are less severe, but the black dog still visits. Crowds still freak me out, and to be honest, people freak me out! If I can avoid social gatherings, I usually do. Meetings kill me; if I turn up to one it is a miracle - if I participate,  even more so. I also still have a hard time accepting praise, belittling the reason for it, not feeling worthy of it. Praise is just awkward!

That being said, I feel joy once more! What may be insignificant to many has taken on new meaning to me; the exquisite taste of banana, fluffy clouds (even snow clouds!) the swirl of the Milky Way overhead on a clear night, the tantalising odours of the main local restaurant strip, a walk in a rainforest, a dip in the ocean, or lake, all bring joy where once there was none.

Mental illness is a cruel, insidious, deadly brute.  I deem myself incredibly lucky to have a tender, long-suffering wife who has been and continues to be an incredible strength to me. I have been fortunate to have received incredible community health nurses, who have shown genuine concern and given professional care. I have the utmost admiration for such amazingly dedicated professionals. I have (after some very disturbing and horrific mis-fires) been put on medication that, although not without its side effects, has smoothed some of the bumps and dips. I consider myself most fortunate that work has been very supportive, and that I have some at work whom I call true friends, who put up with me and watch my bottom - er - back. Family and friends have been of immense support. And there have been a great couple of podcasters who have on innumerable occasions put wind in my becalmed, cabin fevered sails, and made me laugh inappropriately in public. They may never know how much influence for good their hilarity has done.

And I am grateful that after one bad experience with a therapist, and an ineffectual one with another, the community Psychiatrist put me in contact with Lizanne.  I STILL don't know how conversational psychotherapy works - the sceptic in me is still incredulous at what these sessions have done for me. But they have, I totally concede, been of immense benefit.

The mountain that overlooks the city in which I live has been the topic of many a session; it is another source of joy. After riding home by bus after a session that happened on the same day I picked up my new camera (another source of joy!) I stepped off the bus and happened to glance up at the mountain. I was in awe - so much so that I walked a hundred metres away from my house to get a better shot. I had the photo printed on a small canvas as a "thank you and farewell" gift. She was a bit overwhelmed,  as was I. She said that she'd love to put it in her new consulting room. We discussed that a bit and concluded that some may find it foreboding and gloomy. It just shows how far I've come, I guess. This image makes me happy!

So... I'm therapist-less. I'm not seeking a new one; the thought of picking at newly formed healing scabs makes me... well... depressed! So I'm going it alone - except I'm not. There's all those I mentioned before with me, plus others. If you got this far reading this... stream of consciousness, then you are probably with me too. No doubt there are going to be some times of turbulence, and times that I'm not going to be so fun to be around (that hasn't changed!) but I'm hoping I can tolerate all this company.

Thanks!

12 of 12, February 2011. Where have you been, oh Semi-Sane one?

OK, first things first. The last thing I want this post to be is a big, dramatic, "let's feel sorry for essgeethree". However, I feel some explanations are in order for those who really care about me, who may not be aware of where I've been lately. It is fortuitous that I occasionally participate in a 12 of 12 project (The 12 of 12 is a photography project designed to capture a day in the life of people through 12 photographs on the 12th day of each month), that may (or may not!) make this a little easier.

So, this is where I have been since the 2nd of February:

Yes, I'm in hospital. And maybe should have been some time ago- even years! Back in August maybe, when things got very dark, very panicky, very anxious, and very depressing. And got worse... and worse... and medications clashed... and well... things got pretty bad.

The view from my bed, looking up.

I was fortunate to score a single room...

With bed...

An en-suite...

A table and (after four days) a chair...

A view of the oldest continuously operating Theatre in Australia...

And the Pub next door to the theatre, that has provided some "excitement and entertainment" some nights (yikes!)

My good friend Gorbak provided much needed hours of entertainment (I love it!)

I am quite enjoying some books that are most entertaining (if you've seen the show QI, you might get an idea of the type of things these books might contain)...

And I'm not so enthusiastically reading the books they'd probably prefer I read!

But they are keeping me fed.

And I'm getting better. Honest.

But for the cachers out there, maybe you may now understand why I call my MIBH period my "Van Gogh/Spike Milligan" period.

Please don't be offended, but I'm really restricting visitors.  Truth is, I overwhelm easily at the moment, and, more importantly, if you haven't been to the Psych Ward before, you won't know what hit you! It is a very confronting place!

I now have occasional release (so I'm whipping this blog post off at home), but don't have my laptop in hospital. I do have a phone that allows me to check emails, and check any blog posts, etc, so I'm not completely cut off from the outside world. But I'm not good at talking on the phone!

Sorry if this has come as a shock, but let me assure you it's been more of a shock to me!

Take care all, and I'll hopefully see you on the trail some time soon!

EDIT: I arrived back at hospital after posting this, went back to be let back into my room, only to be told that "I'm afraid we've had to move you to another ward, in a 4 bed room!" I'd been warned that that could happen at any time, but it was still a shock to the system! However, it was an inner comfort to realize that it wasn't anywhere near as overwhelming as when I first arrived at hospital, and was put in a 4 bed ward- for about 15 minutes, before they asked if I'd like a single room!

My meal was lost in transit, so I ate whatever was spare, and rang Wendy with the news. I then went back to my room to make it "home" as much as I could.  The next moment the nurse came in, and said the Doctor wanted to see me.  Odd, because it was Saturday evening... I hadn't met him before, so we had a bit of a chat. He asked how I felt I was going, and I said the last four days had certainly been an improvement.  He then dropped the bombshell: "would you like to go home?"  He gave full disclosure- "Beds were real tight, but we'd never send you home if you, or they, didn't feel I was ready."

So... I'm writing this Edit at MY kitchen table! There is a long road ahead, but I'm feeling safer, and happier, than I have in quite a while. I'm still fully expecting stumbles. I haven't been to work since the first of December, so that is going to be a challenge, to get back on the horse (they have been so wonderfully supportive at work)

Just understand that I'm changed in many ways. My passion for things is variable. My memory is shot. My attention span is very random, and my ability to spell (which was already woeful) has suffered too. I may seem rude, abrupt, or distracted (OK, maybe that hasn't changed!)

But I now have a far greater "appreciation" and understanding of the absolute reality of Mental illness.  I ache for all those I passed and nodded greetings to in those lonely hospital corridors. I ache for all those I have judged flippantly in the past, with a casual "Oh, get over it!" without having a clue as to what they were/are going through. And I long for the Black Dog to stay out of our yard!

God bless.

Hell, That's a Dam Fine Piece of Engineering!

Back when I was thirteen I, with 20,000 others, marched through the streets of Hobart chanting "No Dams" in what was then Australia's largest ever environmental rally, protesting against the construction of the Franklin Dam. Due to my upbringing I have developed a great love for Tasmania's wild bush... and yet somewhere deep inside me, I think I have Engineer blood in me...











On an overcast, showery day in Sheffield last week we decided on a whim to visit the Devil's Gate Dam. Just as we arrived in the car park the rain stopped and the sun broke through. We couldn't have planned it better; as we walked down to the viewing platform the sound of rushing water became louder and louder. And then the dam came into view- in spill with massive volumes of water plummeting eighty-four meters and the only-recently-revealed sun at just the right angle to produce swirling multiple rainbows in the spray.

It was an absolute wonder to behold, and took my breath away!  I love the rainforests and the bush, but when I stand near something like this, all I can do is go "Wow!"
I have to admit it is moments like these that I question my "Greenie-ness".

It is an amazing feat of engineering, using a non-polluting renewable, free energy source.  I'm certainly not saying we should dam every river in the state, and there are some river systems that should never be touched, but I'm also coming round to thinking (and I'm about to be attacked from all angles here!) that maybe there shouldn't be a knee-jerk "No Dams" reaction every time a new hydro-electric scheme is proposed. Maybe. Or maybe I should get one of those Teen-Vamps to suck the engineering blood out of me.

However, I also think there must be a much more efficient, cost-effective method of harnessing the power that flows through our rivers.  Like this, for example. But you don't get a big, stonking, awe-inspiring dam doing that.

I'm so torn.

Just thinking...