the system failed me

I know it's often said by people in autobiographies or an excuse by drug addicts but the system really did fail me. I can recall a time where living in Sydney, I had just had enough of my mum so I packed some bags and ran away. My first point of call was my case manager at DOCS (Department of Community Services) and as I sat in the lobby at 9 am waiting for her to arrive, the nicest thing she did was let me speak to her for 5 minutes when I hadn't scheduled an appointment. Infact, that was the only thing she did for me. For the 5 minutes that she so kindly listened to me talk about how my mother was a bipolar, addict and emotionally abusive woman all she did was nod her head. Towards the end, she acknowledged my packed bags, told me she had a meeting to attend and 'wished me well.' I left the only place where someone was being paid to care about me, alone and with no where to go. After a string of events consisting of spending the only money I had at a payphone calling people looking for somewhere to stay, I wound up at my ever so dearest friend, Katie's house. I walked into a house that immediately felt like home. Despite the bongs made with empty old flavoured milk bottles and the newspapers from over three years ago lying around, Katie, her mum and step dad were more welcoming to me than my mum could have ever been, even when I first moved in with her.

For a young girl (12) this week turned into a very complicated time with constant phone calls between my mum and Katie's mum that did not go a second without yelling. And although I loved my mum, which it may seem as though I don't, I felt closer to this family in two hours than I did to my mum in 12 years. The security didn't last long because mum found out where I was and instantly, in order to protect me, Katie and I were sent to go stay with her 25 year old sister for a few days.

This stay turned out to be very interesting, to say the least. I remember arriving there. It was obviously housing commission (us houso rats can spot housing comms from a mile away.) The walls were all brick and the apartment smelt like mouldy bread and marijuana  From recollection her name was Michelle and if it wasn't then it is now. Michelle lived with her fiancée who for lack of memory in regards to his name, we will call Mike and their cat which weirdly, I remember being names Mentos. Michelle and Mike slept on a mattress in the lounge room as the designated bedroom was being used as storage. Katie and I slept of the lounge together. On the second night of staying there, we were all eating in the lounge room in front of the TV which was the only thing in it's correct place. Mike muted the TV, looked at me and told Katie to go get the juice from the fridge. As she left the room, Mike nudged Michelle who responded as though she knew exactly what it was for. She then asked me in a very slow, calm and informal voice if 'I was willing to have a paid threesome with me and Mike?' Katie came back in the room, grabbed me and said 'We're going down to the shops, be back soon' and then dragged me out the door and sat me on the steps that led down the apartment blocks. She placed her hands on my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes, almost like she was looking through me. 'You're not seriously considering this are you?' 'No! of course not' - sadly though, I was at a low point in life and I really was considering it. 'Good, because you're not the first friend of mine they've asked and the other girl said yes and now, well, let's just say she won't ever come back to this part of town ever again' Thankfully, and I mean I am really grateful she said that because it scared the heck out of me and saying yes was far from likely because of that. After that, we went back to get our things and then returned to Katie's house.

A few nights there which all I really can remember was sharing her single bed discussing our dreams of perfect lives and prank calling kids helpline and I was starting to miss home. Let me make clear that I genuinely mean I missed home and not my mum. I can't recall exactly what provoked the fight but one thing led to another and I was in a screaming match with Katie. Perhaps I mentioned wanting to go home or something I said made me sound ungrateful because all I can remember is getting the absolute crap beaten out of me as one fist and the next pounded into my head. I was her punching bag and she'd obviously had practice because she was doing a pretty good job at hitting me. She grabbed my hair, pulled it towards her and laid one final punch into my chest. I locked myself in her bathroom, spitting blood down the toilet and staring into a mirror trying to fight away the tears. It felt like hours that I locked myself in there but when I looked at the clock only 20 or so minutes had passed before Katie and her mum started knocking on the door. Words were being thrown around, particularly the word 'sorry' but I was so caught up in what just happened, it was a little hard to comprehend. Eventually, I unlocked the door and just said straight out 'I want to go home.' Jane, Katie's mum didn't hesitate and quickly responded with a guilt trip trying to explain that they had done so much for me (which, really they had but my thoughts were clouded by the fact that I had just been beaten up) and that Katie really didn't want me to leave. But, after all, all I wanted was my own bed and to be alone. Jane drove me home and quickly went up to my mum and strung some bullshit story full of apologies about how she was sorry that her daughter bashed me but it's understandable after being together straight for so long. Of course, mum accepted the apology, pretended to hug me but realistically only did it to squeeze the last bit of air out of my body and pushed me through the front door.

The system really did fail me. Not only in this case, but in the future when I was still left to live in the house that made anxiety and sadness the only feelings possible to experience. And later, when I was living on the streets.

We wear the mask

When I went through my whole 'self discovery' phase which really just consisted of people telling me that I had walls up and me trying to prove otherwise I found a poem which I think really changed my view on people.
I'm going to attach that shizz and then explain further

WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
    It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
    This debt we pay to human guile;   (just for peoples' future reference, guile means deceit)
    With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
    And mouth with myriad subtleties.

    Why should the world be over-wise,
    In counting all our tears and sighs?
    Nay, let them only see us, while
            We wear the mask.

    We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
    To thee from tortured souls arise.
    We sing, but oh the clay is vile
    Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
    But let the world dream otherwise,
            We wear the mask!

Okay woah; where to even start. From the beginning of when I started associating with people who were nice and wanted to help me as opposed to when I was friends with people who were exactly like me, I had this opinion that only the broken people tried to hide their inside through masks and walls because everyone told me that this is what I was doing. I thought that only those who'd experienced what would be considered 'awful life experiences' were the ones who hid behind these barriers. How ignorant I was.

2pac has this song. Well; he has many songs but one of his songs says something along the lines of 'No one knows my struggle, they only see the trouble' and before I knew that it was 2pac where the saying derived from and the correct terms of it, someone else had updated a status saying 'You only see my trouble, never my struggle' - I took it upon myself to adopt this as a life statement and use it as an excuse to hide behind, sort of like my wall/mask. Still to this day, I use what people would consider my 'hard childhood' as an excuse for the way I am. And really, it probably is something that has effected me but I let it define me.
As I grew older and wiser, I learnt that I was not the only person undergoing this behaviour, infact; the majority of society were. Perhaps not as blatantly obvious as myself but people still used other events to give insight to others as to why they were the way they were.

Because it can create lots of trouble within my family if I publicise the issue, I am going to refrain from going into too much detail. However; more recently with some stuff going on with my brother, I have taken a back seat in regards to 'the problem child' label which, I myself had become very comfortable with. As a result of this, my mask/wall has crumbled down and I am now no longer able to use my issues as an excuse for my behaviour because there are 'much more serious things going on now.' Subsequently, I am now vulnerable and lost because I have nothing to hide behind and now I have to be accountable for my own mistakes and actions.

In a totally alternative direction. I genuinely believe that all humans on this earth are comfortably living behind their wall. Some may reside behind the great wall of china, others just the picket fence that borders our land. Nether-the-less we are all sleeping, eating, partying, talking, working and sitting behind these barricades. I'm sorry. bear with me momentarily whilst I go on a tangent because I have the attention span of a 3 year old. After writing behind these, I felt it necessaries to inform you that I really had to resist the urge to write behind these hazel eyes. And then, when I got to barricades, it took everything inside of me to not write 'barricades and brick walls won't keep me from you.'  Okay, now that's done; let's continue! Just like the Berlin wall, my belief is that it is possible to break down the barricade. This is why we get hurt the most when the people we love deceive us; because we let them through our façade.

The only thing that creeps me out about this poem is the presence of 'O Christ.'
 It'd sound better if it said 'We smile, but oh fuck, our cries'

Justifications of our wrongs

People, too often, use their past as an excuse for their behaviour. Tonight, I got into a conversation with someone about what makes a person bad and what justifies their bad decisions. For some reason, we ended up on a course that neither of us can really move on from now but some very good points were established, hence why I am here, about to share them with you. The girl whom I was engaging in discussion with is very religious and asked me ‘Because I have God, who forgives my sins. I’ve always wondered how non-religious people justify their wrongs.’ She then asked me how I justify my wrongs and my reply was as followed

‘We can’t justify it, that’s the thing! I try to. I use my life as an excuse to make up for all the wrongs; at least I used to! Honestly, partly it is to blame, but I have learnt this really important thing in more recent times, and that is, that only we control our own actions. This then takes away my excuse of my past to an extent as well. I have no real way to justify my wrong doings; just excuses! I believe that your life can shift your behaviour and of course many things are adopted rather than inherited, the whole nature vs. nurture thing. Yet, too often, we blame those things for the people we become. Like imagine if I felt like I could genuinely kill someone. Quite obviously, this feeling would derive from the hurt in my life and not being able to see the good side of people. But if I go out and kill someone, my past is not responsible for that, I am.’

I know; a long response indeed. But one that speaks too much truth to cope. I always used to try and use the term ‘No one sees my struggle, they only see my trouble’ as an excuse to justify my behaviour. I always used my life to explain why I did things like steal, break and enter into properties and take drugs. Whilst to an extent, my past can provide understanding, it doesn’t provide justification.

I am very guilty of this. I’m not denying that. However; we consciously choose to do or not do things and we control our own behaviour. Therefore, it is not feasible to use what we have been through and what others have done to us as justification to what we do to others or do just in general.