Memories: 28 February 2023

28 February 2024

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28 February 2023

The new “anvil” works great. I cleaned the rust off with rust converter and gave it a good scrub. I sanded it back with my orbital sander.

Then I got to work flattening the copper pipe. But work got sidelined by the arrival of a very unexpected visitor. A carpet snake slithered under the mini trampoline and was staring right at us. I got a bit of a fright when my brain realised it was a snake and not one of the resident blue tongue lizards.

Bobo barked at it in a frenzy and I yelled at Bobo not to go near it. It was on for young and old. I made a video of it before it slowly slithered back under the bromeliads.

I called Peter to catch it but we couldn’t find it. He was trying to scare it out but no dice. So snake personage is probably still under there and I am so worried about him or her eating my Charley bird that I have her on my shoulder.

I will have to keep a close eye on her in the garden now. I think snake came out because it sensed the vibrations of me hammering the copper pipe. Or it might just have been after Charley who is the perfect sized snack for a carpet python! Either way….eeek!

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https://youtu.be/tvMyhW6DWpE

Video I made of my snake visitor. A carpet python.

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3:51 pm https://youtu.be/FiscO4_NqE8

Peter caught her! Amazing!

28 February 2021

28 February 2020

I had my debrief just now. My doctor says it must be deeply disturbing and frustrating that just when my mental health has become somewhat more balanced and stabilised that my physical health should have fallen into such dramatic decline. It’s just not fair.

Nevertheless a certain warrior goddess will soldier on as long as she can. I think if I can overcome my serious health issues. Then perhaps I might just have a goodly life after all.

After my session I walk with Beauregard up to Pet Barn to buy cat biscuits. Bobo gets thoroughly spoiled with treats by the wonderful staff there. His happy place! Then we walk back to the car. I begin to drive down the driveway. I see my gorgeous wise psychiatrist walking slowly towards me.

I wind my window down, cheekily say to him “Stay away from the Crazies, Doctor!” Giggling. He replies “Please don’t run me over!” I reply calmly “Never! I promise I will be Good”. We laugh together. Then I drive home.

He had told me that I am single because there are too many dickheads out in the world, especially in my small pond of “Available” men and I need someone intelligent. I tell him “Yes. Intelligent. Also kind, decent with integrity!” No more fuckery. No more narcopaths, borderlines or personality disorders. I must not settle for any more evil dickheads.

Maintain my warrior goddess status. Alone but intrepid! Manifest Joy even in my single general meshugass. ;-)

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I literally heard a loud pop inside my heart after my separation from my husband. It was a strange kind of grief as he had literally tried to kill me (paid someone to rough me up who attacked and strangled me). Awful. But I survived. Even that horror.

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Update 28 Feb 2023: so you can imagine my disgust and horror when I finally presented at the Emergency Dept of the QE2 hospital on 8 January 2023, that I discovered my entire QE2 hospital patient file is now missing.

The ED doctor was unable to compare my urology reports or offer treatment for my then bladder inflammation. (Which had lasted a week hence I sought treatment!)

I have still not received any answers from that hospital as to where my patient file is. Complete malfeasance and incompetence!

I did receive my operation reports (3 pages) from Shine Lawyers who are completing a class action in regards to that tvt tape. Just reading through those was harrowing.

It was a very intense surgery which caused me to have a very bad bladder infection so my recovery in that Hospital was diffucult to put it mildly. There was also significant systemic abuse.

Predatory behaviour by a male nurse, lack of sufficient care (I needed lots of bag changes for my urine output but was left soaking in my own urine) and a nurse remarked “I am just checking on the poor bitch in here” which I overheard and called her out on referring to me as ”the poor bitch”. So unprofessional they were!

In the end my friend, who is a forensic psychiatric nurse, threatened the entire nurse station with the Health Rights Commission as she saw how poorly I was being treated.

28 February 2018

I woke up feeling ok but after reading the article about Agunot in Australia I was hammered by a deep fatigue so had to lie back down on my bed.

Flashbacks of my horrific divorce and all the abuses that came along with it (and after it).

Crystal read through my Ancestry and told me she is going to write a play about our grandmother and great grandmother.

Awesome! I think she is trying to heal the family curse of abuse/trauma and poverty but some of that was exacerbated by war and some of it was just plain old narcissism and psychopathology so it will be hard to unpack it all.

At any rate I am pleased she is finally facing our own primordial Hags which will help her understand who we are, where we came from and what we might be able to transmute to have better relationships and happier lives.

We heal ourselves to the tenth generation before us. So mote it be. Amen v’selah!

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Our curse stems on both sides but our experience of it is mostly via Gisela and her ancestors. Witches. Actual witches. Well, her biological father Antoni Patula was a powerful Mage. Ie the real McCoy.

Anton came through a psychic once to tell me he is sorry. Over and again. Sorry. At the time I said he had nothing to apologise to me for. I never even met him! But I believe now he meant he was sorry for the awful character flaws my mother inherited: greed, narcissism, violence, treachery, elitism etc.

Maybe if he had lived in my generation he might have protected me (as he tried to protect Gisela from Eva). Or maybe like everyone else in that family he would have sold me down the river Styx and looked on while I struggled to survive the dragons and demons and halitosis hounds of hell.

Who knows? I know one thing. I am better than all of them. I stood up to fight for and protect them in old age even after all the bullshit they had done to me as a child and later on in adulthood.

I am a fucking authentic amazing loving powerful and worthy woman. Sorry they never realised that!

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Today was Cornelis “Cees” Van Der Greft’s Birthday. He died in November 1995. So much time has passed. Some wounds will never heal but some have been transmuted into a different kind of pain.

The pain of being raised by a concentration camp survivor/gambler/womaniser/child abuser/Narcissist.

The pain of Not being raised by good kind, safe people. Nothing can be done to change my childhood but I can do something about the rest of my life: freedom from perverted oppressors. It’s been a long hard journey to my own Becoming.

Later in life he tried to forge a better relationship with me. He began to understand the immense damage that my mother continued to foster. He would sneak around to my apartment with a chocolate-covered gugelhupf to visit me and my girls. (I never left him alone with my girls as he was a predator). But I was touched by his wanting to see us, even if it meant doing so behind my mother’s back.

That was the last two years of his life. He had prostate cancer which developed into bone cancer.

When he died he looked emaciated like he had just been liberated from Mittelbau-Dora and it struck me that it was twice in his lifetime when fate had starved and gnawed away at his bones and soul.

It was also karma for terrorising me as a child with his sexual advances.

I survived him, and Trevor Singh’s predation. I survived my father and mother’s violent acting out. My sister’s betrayal.

Some days I still wish I had died. But I am here, up on my feet, finding joy in small things, dreaming of a comfortable peaceful loving life, and manifesting healing moment by moment.

I have come a long way.

So happy birthday Uncle Cees. Play some klaverjas with your seedy friends up in heaven (and cheat of course!) so you can go on a cruise and seduce lonely or vulnerable women.

(I can hear him saying “Och Doch Mensch”).

As he lay dying my bastard mother lashed out at him. “Where are the dancing girls now, Cees?” And “I have your car now, what are you going to do? Get up?” Jarrod and I were horrified. We clung to each other, sobbing in shock and grief, laughing at my mother’s monstrous cruelty.

It was a harbinger of how viciously she would treat me after Cees’s death. No buffer, no moderator, no filters. Cees was a peacekeeper in an atrocious “war” of the Narcopath. I had loved him for that.

But ultimately he never had my back and we were all played off against each other like an old-fashioned pinball machine. So fuck you, Cees, and David, Trevor, Angela and last but most dangerous, Gisela.

You all tried to kill me. I won! The booby prize but let’s eat!

I became the Dancing warrior goddess of Light in the night. The woman of honour and integrity and your gifts of poverty and trauma created me.

I turned out just grand. After decades of abuse I got angry enough to fight for myself. Each time society beat me back down so I have not come far in life but I am alive and fierce and free. Better than all the houses and gold.

Where are the dancing girls, Gisela?

Right here!

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28 February 2017

28 February 2016

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Today was my first step-father's birthday. Cornelis Van Der Greft. A survivor of Mittelbau-Dora. A narcissist. A womaniser, complete with carefully coiffed hair and cravat. A child sexual abuser.

A gambler, a bookie; amongst his following of fellow Dutchmen with more money than sense as he made money from his friends like taking lollies from babies, and their gambling addictions were so great they were mostly grateful and happy to do so.

Apart from the epic tantrums when they lost (often!) and piling up my mother's beautiful table with cigarette butts in the ashtrays, perving leerily at me, trying to convince me they were good men (lol!), screwing one of my mum's best girlfriends behind their loving wife's back in our front lounge room, after meeting for 5 minutes, no less!

A secret I was forced to keep to protect the sweet docile wife and mother of 8 children. The friend, Bert, a jovial always-laughing chap so in a way, a likeable larrikin bastard, one of the few of Cees's friends we actually truly liked, so we all kept his secret. Mum's friend, a notorious nymphomaniac, so really, fucking was her hobby.

My mother's other best friend, Erika was a Dutch-German woman, born on the border, well-educated daughter of an ambassador, who married a merchant banker, had a son and when that marriage failed, became a Dominatrix.

She offered to teach me everything she knew when I was just 18 and announced my engagement. She declared, "When your marriage fails, and it will. I know you, Tanya. Come and see me and I will teach you the trade. You will have plenty of money and never suffer being alone as like me, you will go home to your own bed with your own pussies and no man will ever run your life or destroy you".

She was half right. I do go home to my dog and pussies but like a fool I chose to be respectable for the past 50 years and I still let men fucking annihilate me. Only the ones I fall in love with. Haha.

So the last man I loved, recently declared me psycho and to rebel against my loyal steadfast adoration, pashes off the casino nymphomaniac right in front of me.

Both cunts…But you know. I don't need him. I want him. But now I see he has devalued himself to get free of me. Debased himself to hurt me. Well, he shares Cees's birthday. A lot in common. He may not abuse children but he certainly abused my love and trust.

My inner child is devastated. She chooses bastard after bastard then is surprised when they damage her.

Decades of therapy later. Vows to God to die rather than ever let a man do that to me again. Yet here I am. Splendiferously wild and ferociously showing my teeth.

Erika, you old cunt. Love you! You were right. You did know me. Another Complex PTSD survivor always knows another.

Hahaha!

When I told my sister Angela what Erika had told me to attain to become, my sister would spit on Erika in the streets of Wellington as Erika unknowingly would approach Angela to say Hello. She missed my mother and me. We were always kind and tolerant of her.

Angela, both a survivor of child sexual abuse and a paedophile enabler herself (when It became my turn!) had no fucking right to stand on her elitist principled tippy toes and judge any other woman.

The biggest most defunct cunt that ever lived who sold me out for the final time in the will dispute then declared me dead. Vapid cunt.

Well, dead sisters don't cry. Also we can only die for real once. I have come so close to death so many times, in my early childhood and in my 30's and 40's, hell even last year at 50, that really, being dead is a prize. A luxury I shall taste like the best chocolate in the world.

Move on Cunties...Nothing to see here.

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Haha. 3.33 pm. Just woke up. I ate breakfast then lay down on the bed and passed out for another 4 hours. So hot today too. I needed the sleep though. 7 hours sleep is not enough and causes a weird sort of mania. Hence all the working in the garden yesterday.

Time to get up and drink heaps of water to replenish my dessicated old husk of a body and flush out whatever is aggravating my stomach.

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Beauregard with his gf Tess. They chase each other and snap at each other. It's only fascination, my dears. Reminiscent of my love affairs.

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Bobo keeps dragging in dead cane toads, missing eyes and legs. Ew! I worry the carcasses still are poisonous so I kick them away. The crows must be killing the odd one.

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11.45 am. Not long awake. Tummy still feels like a coffee grinder. Headspace: much clearer, just need to re-integrate from the astral state to the physical. Only 7 hours sleep yesterday and last night, so quite tired.

Heart: feeling less shell-shocked. Duct tape, makeup, sexy clothes and a big attitude helps kick away the desolate debris. The Zombie is back in her Power. Prepare for epic wildness and increased doses of Don't-give-a-fuck and don't-fuck-with-me.

Some nice man came up to me where I was sitting on the stage. He waved me over like a lap dog. I ignored him. Then he stepped closer and put out his hand. I ignored him.

My Asian friend was watching and motioned for me to dance with him. I shook my head. I said "He has to use his words and ask me properly". So he asked. I got up to dance. He said "You look so beautiful, much better standing up than sitting down. You should not wait for a man to ask you to dance and just do it".

I said "Thank you. But I am an Independant woman. I never wait for any man to dance". Then I pointed out my silver 6in high heels. "I get tired, stomping around on stilts. I am, after all, an old woman". He laughed.

His friend leapt on top of me like a blundering idiot Labrador. Without missing a beat I shoved him off me with my right hand.

The guy who asked me to dance said "Wankers, everywhere". I replied "Yes, it would appear so. But this wanker is your friend". "He's no friend of mine". I smiled. A blatant lie. They had a little conference.

Jumper came over to me. "That man is a bloody Legend". "That's nice", I replied. My suitor returned. "Your friend tells me you are a Legend but I have to inform you that Legends Don't have Wankers for friends". 'Legend' stated, "You are so right". I rolled my eyes. "Yes. I am often right, which is really quite painful."

He wandered off to tell bouncy one, who has physically leapt onto my person before. They laugh then scratch their heads. Yup. Wankers United meeting.

Legend circles the room, wooing other contenders then returns to me. "Hey!" He says, like we just met. "Hey" I say back, feigning enthusiasm. He was ok. We danced again.

Herb dressed in his spectacular gold-coloured suit, did huge African-American pirouettes in my line of vision to make sure I saw his enthusiasm that I was there and also competing with Legend. It was hilarious. Like watching circus clowns fight over a balloon. (Me, being the stomach-achy tired sore-footed cynical old ball bag and the 3 men being the clowns/Wankers/legends).

Herb, also not one to use his words, gestured to me if I want a drink. I did want one but I am annoyed with him and his antics so I shrugged. He approached Karen who held her hand up to tell him to step back. He was terrified of my tiny Bolshey 5'1 Irish warrior princess so he ran off.

He then danced in my periphery, constantly hamming to songs, as I do. The Proclaimers came on (methinks they proclaim too much!). Herb turns, points to me, waves his whole body around.

I would walk 500 miles. Delivery, passionate and wild. Louis Armstrong would be proud. I just raised my left shoulder in half a shrug of contemptuous disillusionment. Over it. He gave up after that. Sweet lunatic but another non-verbal communicator. Thinks he can use me. Like so many others.

I am not here for Your Entertainment! Even if it is amusing to watch the oestros and the testosterone games.

As my former mother used to sing "I am so glad, I am not young anymore!"

:-)

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2.29 am. Home early. Terrible stomach pain. Feels like early labour. Which is even more disturbing that I still remember THAT after 30 years.

I had a lovely time dancing with Karen. We laughed a lot. But in the end my guts ached and my feet hurt and I am tired after a productive day, so it was time to head home.

The house is so peaceful. I checked on the ponds and they are clearing up nicely. I can already see the bottom. I put the little mirror I made as an homage to La Sirene, in the top of the little waterfall. Hopefully she is pleased. I know I certainly am happy with the shift in energy. Once my tummy pains get sorted, I will be in a much happier space.

28 February 2015

Lmao. The Irish Viking Women are going out! Karen is back in the land of the Wild and the Free.

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10.54 pm. I slept all day thanks to the Valium and Seroquel. Now I feel much better emotionally.

Karen came back from Wet and Wild absolutely knackered. Not much sleep and dancing with me last night.

So we are going to stay home tonight. My feet and ankles hurt too much anyway. I did well, dancing at all last night. The flat Docs supported my fragile ankles better.

I am glad I got to move my body. I needed it.

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Slowly, Painfully pulls one of the many Halberds out of my back, stands up, bleeds out, turns... "Get That for me, will you Deirdre!"

Banshee laughter into the night.

Freedom!

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3.41 am. I had another memory while dancing, of my beloved Dr Eastwell, telling me the very first time I experienced real happiness, that I should just enjoy having that bubble of pain bursting and get plenty of sleep and not fear Happiness.

He said to me that this society actually Hates Happiness. It tries to commit it or criminalise it. It feeds off despair and trauma and depression and for the few souls that Dare to strive to openly exhibit their true (well-deserved!) Joy, then society will Crush those free happy spirits.

He looked into my eyes (my two decent psychiatrists have been my only true "father figures"). Then he said, "Don't let them Crush you! It is your turn to embrace life fully now". Gosh. It hit me hard. That was before the will dispute I think, before my mother died, so 6 or 7 years ago?

Dr Eastwell! I love you! You are probably passed over now but I promise you, I will continue to live in Freedom and Joy and I will try very very hard to never let them Crush me.

In memory of the beautiful Soul, Harry Smith...Nil Carborendum Et Bastardoes! (Never let the bastards grind you down!)

Bring me Sleipnir, for tomorrow night, we Rideeeeee! HaShem knows I love Him first and best but I also know there are many other gods and demi-gods, angels, elementals, and light beings who have fought to keep me alive. All aspects of the Holy One. All blessings.

Last night after that foul creature in that group harassed me, I prayed for a resolution. I felt the warmth and love of the Shechinah surround me and soothe my soul even though the distress brought havoc to my insides.

I must be some kind of arsehole to be hated so much but I am blessed to have a few good people on my team. Lyn, Jarrod are my core family. I would not still be here, without your staunch devoted Love. You Rock.

It takes a Village to raise a child and it took several communities to utterly destroy a trauma survivor. But they haven't quite factored into the equation, my spirit, or my courage.

Karma, natural justice, real enduring love, with true friends and decent people surrounding me, free of envy, sabotage, walls, blocks, impediments, toxicity, negativity, be mine!

Either dance beside me, love me as I love you or... fuck off. I wasted 50 years with traitors and Holograms. I want Authenticity...Now!

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3 am. Stef, one of my casino and pub "stalkers" (but one of the few stalkers I actually like and treat as a friend) came up to me at the casino as I danced in my usual "spot". He usually has very random trains of thought so tonight I asked him if he had been to Irish Murphys. He said "Yeah, of course." I smiled.

He said "Are you off your cross yet, from being crucified? Are you Jesus?"

I said "No, I can never be Jesus but they did try to crucify me, all those lying false motherfucking friends I danced with and adored for 3 years. Lovely people!"

He said "well did they let you off the cross yet?" (I think by this he wondered in his usual random way if I was coming back?)

I said "No. They can’t get me on the cross, mate. I am a Jew! I won’t be crawling into any caves for 3 days either. But I am a Goddess of Wrath and Vengeance and I curse that filthy evil shit-hole for scapegoating me. I call upon St Brigid to deal with them". Lmao!

He said "They all turned Judas on you then".

I said, "Honey, I am worth way more than 40 Pieces of silver. Those Judases Know that they have unjustly betrayed me while I clutched them lovingly to my breast."

I said, "Why you, Stef. You might be the biggest Judas of them all. You might be Judas Priest!" and he said " I am a dojo priest".

So I laughed, then cleaned his aura (half-jokingly) and said. "Now you have been blessed by a Jew!"

Oddly, the new DJ interrupted our conversation to ask me if I had requested a song last week. I said "Darling, I never request songs and by this time of the night you can observe that I am always sober. I like to keep control!"

He laughed, asked me what I wanted him to play. I said "Rock, Very Hard Rock" and grinned mischievously.

I looked around and Stef had run away into the night, as is his wont. He is actually a nice guy, in spite of his strange conversations.

Just then Karen reminded me she has a big day tomorrow at Wet and Wild, so we staggered in great pain from dancing, to my car which thankfully was close by in William Street so we didn't have our customary agonised crawl to Margaret St where I usually have to park and stare rather wistfully at the synagogue where a whole other life was lived. Psy sighs.

Hashem was kind to me tonight to let me have a close park as I was in pain before we got there and in more pain after. Maybe dancing might loosen those angry tendons and muscles and arthritic joints. I guess I will find out tomorrow.

So glad I lived to have some fun before I die. A Schecheyanu. Amen!

Laila Tov! Shabbat Shalom from She who Loves Best and Loses out anyway. The cascade of trauma continues, but my zest and Fight for Life remains.

I think if I ever get my Viking funeral, or a jewish one or any other kind, I will get Fuck You written on my funeral boat or my gravestone. Or "You tried to kill me, you won, let's eat. See you in Paradise".

Although originally I wanted to borrow from Spike Milligan which says in tiny writing "I told you I was sick, you bastards".

Haha! Alas for me, Life goes on. Kvetching into the Void. (That could be the title of my book!)

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2.28 am I had a wonderful night dancing with the beautiful Karen at the casino. I wore Docs as my feet and ankles still hurt from February 14. I can't bear to take my boots off yet. Ouch!

Karen is off to Wet and Wild but when she comes back tomorrow night, we will be most likely crawling on our sore feet back into town. Oy! But we love it!

28 February 2014

@the Joynt. Enjoying The Hipshooters! Awesome!

28 February 2013

Awake. Almost 9 hours sleep today. Good work! Yesterday was 12! Glad that my long bout of insomnia is coming to an end.

It was great to reach resolution with my psychiatrist also. I need to be able to feel safe to process my life experiences with him. Two years to build up a great therapeutic rapport is a huge investment and I did not want to lose that. I am glad that he is a decent human being who has great compassion and unconditional love and understood my greatest fear had been triggered.

Meanwhile I carry on, holding onto what is left of my Mind, my joy, my resilience, my strength and my ability to love and continue with my healing journey and my quest for a safe, comfortable happy loving life.

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28 February 2011

I am happy today, in spite of the fact that my lawyer lied to me, and promised to phone me this arvo after the teleconference with a barrister who has been briefing my case.

This just makes me so annoyed when they let me down like this. I guess, he will ring me tomorrow and if I don't hear by the afternoon tomorrow I will have to phone him.

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28 February 2010

Been a horrendously stressful time but something we all have to go through ourselves one day. My only wish when my time comes is that I will be surrounded by all my favourite and most compassionate and loving people then. It's such a slow, painful, and traumatic process and everyone deserves as much love as possible in their final hours/days.

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My sister has returned to NZ, not coming back for the funeral and I very much doubt if I will see her again for a long time. Meanwhile Mum is still in the land of the living, keeping comfortable on the morphine infusion and being moved back to Moreton Bay Nursing Care Unit tomorrow at 11 am. I will go to see her tomorrow.

Update: She died on 7th March 2010. I asked her spirit to not die on 6th March (my father’s birthday) as she had hated him so much so needed her own day! She avoided dying on 8th March (her mother Eva’s suicide!)

I missed her death by ten minutes as the staff did not call me in time. (They had instructions to call me but quite maliciously left it until the last minute). No one to greet me at the door.

I ran through the facility and into my mother’s room to discover her corpse. With a pretty flower beside her head that a staff member had placed there.

I had been there every day and tried to be there for her transition. I was utterly furious that they did not call me in time. (It takes 20 minutes to drive to Wynnum!). They would have known she was going to die hours earlier.

Ultimately though, my mother died alone and maybe that was what her spirit wanted after all. We come alone and we go alone.

Love distorted and contorted by abusers and trauma. Is it even really Love?

I had been in a state for several weeks before her death. Literally felt like I was dying with her. So strong was her telepathic pull on my energy.

Even one of the nurses had noticed it. “Your mother is a powerful woman”. My mother. My monster.

28 February 1996

Copyright Tanya Désirée Arons