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Memories: 21 September 2022

Truth telling, burning down the house but like my beloved lady Godiva I ride through life naked and sacred while lesser mortals Avert their eyes. :-)))

By Tanya Arons Published 5 months ago Updated 3 months ago 21 min read
Lady Godiva at the Lady Made entertainment promotion. Drawn by me!

21 September 2022

I just had my debrief with my psychiatrist. He is proud of me for my new venture with my little market stall. He also reminded me of how far I have come after being, and I quote “chemically lobotomised and turned into a zombie for decades” end quote.

This is why I love and respect my psychiatrist so very much. His integrity and honesty with me as he has seen me blossom out in many different ways, in the 6 years and three months since I weaned off all my psych meds.

His acknowledgement of how damaging to my body mind and spirit those psych meds had been. (Even though he himself used to prescribe them to me until I told him they were slowly killing me and doing nothing to heal my mental health or my cumulative complex traumas so I wanted off that carousel ride).

I had become dependent on them and feared that by going off them, that I would spiral under into psychosis but instead…I healed. Slowly but surely. With his support and encouragement also.

I told him I was triggered at my new market venture by the abusive father and how I had identified with the boy but had refused to be complicit or complacent and had spoken to the child to remind him that he is a good boy. Thereby: worthy!

I told him I was raised by sadistic monsters like that which made my life so unbearably fraught that even going to a market to sell for the first time in decades was courageous, yet I was riddled with intense anxiety for hours.

But I was placed there by the gods to witness that little boy and his father’s emotional abuse and to try to mitigate it or at least plant a seed for that child to know deep in his psyche that he is of value!

So my journey continues…. I will keep striving to establish my little Titania’s Realm business. I will keep living as healthily as I can muster with my shitty lungs, my cptsd and my stoic stubborn hopefulness for a better future. I will keep loving who I am and those who surround me with love and honour.

I will enjoy every day and night as a gift bestowed upon me by the gods, our earth and our own human determination to thrive.

11:11 am good morning Angels. :-)

21 September 2020

Possum is back in her house. She stayed away yesterday. I think she is slowly adjusting to the change. Her new box.

I am happy to see her curled up inside. I love those possums.

She stayed in the box all day, occasionally giving me an appreciative possum smile. She just left for the night. As she popped her head out the front door of her box she watched me carefully. I bid her “good morning! Have a great night Possum Girl”.

She did not leave until it got dark enough as Bobo was barking at her so I had to distract him first with a ball then bribe him with a Schmacko.

I saw her silhouette high up in the golden rain tree. A very safe and contented possum.

21 September 2018

Tired but content! I had a lovely day with my daughter and her friends, promoting Lady Made Entertainment.

Now resting a bit before I go dancing tonight.

I had a chat with my nephew and niece. Mark is coming to stay with me on 29th October. They are looking to buy a house and migrate here. Wonderful!

21 September 2017

Trembling before G-d, (as I always do) with Charlie the Rainbow embodiment lorikeet, perched on my shoulder, Beauregard the hound dog of faithfulness at my side. Penny my familiar looking on. (Always guiding and protecting my spirit, dear sweet goddess that she is).

Trembling before the Holy One who watches and waits for The Tanya to fully embody her vision of herself and her life. So much spiritual progress made. So much pain, horror, degradation.

On the last day of 5777 I “lost” another daughter. (It's not so bad, I have been abused and rejected so many times before by so many people, what is one more?) My child that I birthed, I loved, I fought to keep, stayed with, moved house with 8 times, harried and slandered, strangled and tormented… but I raised my babies.

I raised them amongst wolvish, salivating, evil congregations that hated us (for standing up for human rights, my rights, my children's rights, for being poor and disenfranchised, for being true to myself, just maybe for being me).

I raised them through fickle and cruel sadistic love affairs (my focus was on finding a true love that would love us, protect us, and at the very least stand with us).

I raised them through constant vicious attacks (financial/emotional and physical) from my former husband, my former mother, her hench(wo)men Terry, Gila, Buck, David.

People who tried to kill me in so many ways, and almost succeeded. But instead they slowly killed the love of my children for me. Living with a depressed and severely traumatised mother will do that.

But like a fool, I cleaved to Life, played out its game, lost, got up, tried to find love again and again, lost, laid low, dying dying putrefying but still the angels bade me try one more time. I crawled from my death bed.

I took my children to school (even in the midst of a severe breakdown that was so intense I drove to their school on auto-pilot and drove home, back to my bed. No help from anyone).

My enemies, (I was living in my mother's granny flat) invading my space, licking at my heels, driving me over the edge of my own serene determination to die. Three weeks.

Death breathed down my neck and décolletage. Licked my cheeks, my eyeballs, clawed at my heart. No way to live, no way to die, offering myself like a sacrificial ram in a thicket of thorns). The knife in my hand was stayed. I was knocked out into unconsciousness. A few hours passed.

I cried out to G-d. Well, if you won't let me die then help me get to freedom. Get me out of here, this toxic wasteland of evil. This death place.

I moved house. Out of frying pan into fire, but I did not know that then. More horrors awaited me. But I had my beloved children and they had me and I persisted.

I joined a new congregation, like-minded loving people which led me to another false lover and of course I soon discovered, more false friends. All that time I was being mocked and derided. Disrespected. Distrusted. But I was so happy in my blissful ignorance.

That shule folded. Those friends went their separate ways. I still treasure their gifts. Amulets on my wall asking G-d that my children shall Look At me with love and light in their eyes.

My friend John knew. He saw through the bullshit. Tried to give me a heartfelt blessing. I thank him still. Good intentions. Shortly after his family moved to Melbourne their young son died in a boating accident.

The false friends told me they were travelling together to attend the funeral in Echuca. The privileged wealthy, and I was cast aside as I had not the means to attend.

Never mind, little Asher visited me shortly after in my dreams. He knew I had loved him. My genuine love has often been devalued and debased by the evil and the ignorant. But in death, with the awakening of the spirit, they come. To say goodbye or to comfort me that now they understand my suffering, my abject horror at being excluded, shunned, secluded.

Davidson, of the self-proclaimed “magnificent penis" whom had spent a few years trying to destroy me, then when he realised the enormity, the magnificence of his actions (fear of my righteous wrath and judicial vengeance) tried too late to rectify his wrongs (hahah picked my newly-arrived evil father up from the airport and could not comprehend my bafflement and ambivalence, my deep-seated trauma).

But I was a good daughter, a good mother, lover, human. I stood up when I was counted upon. I cleaved to Hope and love and forgiveness, even to the point of my own demise.

Well...well?! I did not die, did I? Hands on my throat, lies spread about me, money and homes and safety torn from me but I raised my daughters and more importantly (now they are gone from me, with the last vestiges of fealty and family) I raised myself!

I stand tall with my head high. Dead lovers pawing at my feet with their cloven hoofs and forked tongues that once poured false love into me and came...then disappeared, gloating into the night.

They damaged not just my children but their own. I was gifted that eulogy from Spirit and it was beautiful. A man-child honouring his father with gracious respect for a man who had tried to mock rape me in their presence.

That was how he taught his sons about masculinity, about sexuality, about degrading The Tanya. Now that spirit comes to tell me he is not evil and he loves me. Really??? Really! What have we here?!

Even in death they come to my light like moths flickering to a flame. True friends, like my beloved Linda who came to me on the day she died, as joyous ebullient butterflies in my stomach.

False ones, like David Davidson, declaring his love. Admitting his wrongdoings. A nobility of spirit he lacked the form of in Life. Hahaha. So beautiful and so weird.

I did not die, for this?? I was kept alive for this? To see old long-time friends drift away because of a pesky little dog. Like the last one who left me out of envy over bananas. What the actual fuck?

I get it. I burnt them out. When they prospered I was no longer desirable as a friend. They needed a victim to pity, to look down on, to feel important.

When I no longer desired to remain in that submissive-beaten-down-like-a- cur state, I was rejected. Nothing to see here. Move along. Tanya was never gonna make it. Born to be Modest. Born to be betrayed over and over and (did I say) Over again.

Friends in high places that kept me around as an example of their charity and sometimes for sheer entertainment. But when I decided I wanted to succeed in life, I was crushed down again.

I am grateful to those who kept me precious if only for their own pride and fury. I belong to no one but G-d and let's face it, where is His hand in all of this?

The world as we know it is heaving and vomiting and purging and we live in dangerous times but those who keep faith in Life and Love shall know their time has come and what foul mockery and twists of fate shall beset me then?


Do me a favour those who once loved me but love me no more. Those who faked it. Those who vomited me out like a labouring woman spewing out hatred and scorn.

Don't come to me when you die like that last one. My doors will not open to you. Be blessed on your journey to Gehinnom (or Valhalla, or purge-atory? Or wherever superficial lying fake loves go).

Be blessed and Know! I loved you. I chose you. I loved you.

Like a fool, like the weakling you thought me. But I also Loved me. Now go, be free. I have not died. I am cursed to live and see the horrors unravelling daily. Old loves, new loves. Lick my eyeball but I still see. Even with my eyes closed.

My heart is a soaring triumphant bird. It sings its own fierce, strangled melody. In the Aleph no one will hear my scream.

I had a phone call from my local MP asking me if I was happy about the way the SSM vote was managed. I launched into a passionate tirade about how abhorrent it was that gay people were subjected to that and that I demand equal rights and that I am deeply ashamed to be Australian in this current climate of abuse.

He told me that he was ringing constituents as many ballot papers had been found thrown away or damaged out in the weather so the process had been subverted.

I said it was typical of right-wing myopic fundamentalist Christians and they are as dangerous in my view as ISIS are to the Muslims. Bigotry and hate has no place in the democratic process and it was a failure of Malcolm Turnbull to even instigate this ballot this way.

So we chatted about my other issues that I feel have impacted on a safe productive society.

Then he invited me to do something positive by attending a domestic violence fundraiser tomorrow at a local coffee shop. I am thinking I will attend. It is the second time he has called me on a political Issue so that was rather weird. He said it would be nice to meet me in person.

There was a wee awkward moment when he asked me if I knew which party he represented? I said Tell me and if I choke and hang up it's the wrong one. (Labor). We both giggled with relief. (I did not choke!)

21 September 2016

* trigger warning: threats of rape, csa, systemic abuse.



My deepest regret in life was not running away from my mother and stepfather (who threatened to rape me when I was 15) by running to the very first man that I could find.

It was another set up by my mother. She knew his best friend's mother. "Find my Tany (I hate being called that Taneeee) a nice jooish boy. She won't leave her room. She studies all the time. She is weird". (I was a fucking depressed and traumatised university student...duh!)

Sylvia had meant well. She told me years later in 2000 (one of my watershed years) on my visit to Melbourne that she had hoped I would have a nice safe happy life with Micheal. Instead it was out of the frying pan and into the fire. She was sorry.

She admitted she had suspected that I had been sexually abused as a child and had even confronted my mother about it when Trevor bought me my horse when I was 14. My mother denied it. Even though she knew.

Along with the horse, she had convinced Trevor to buy me an expensive gold bangle. Various other jewellery. This when I was only 7.

In effect I was a paid courtesan. Dressed in finery with conditions always attached to it. "Be a good girl. Do well at school. Why are you so weird? Why is your head always on the chopping block? Why do you fight the other kids at school? (To fucking protect myself from more bullies/abusers). Who do you think you are?"

So I learned to think of myself as bought and paid for. Owned. Possessed. Never loved and never safe.

Nothing much changes.

So it was quite a shock when in 2005 on the night I met Courtenay while driving down the highway from Coopers Plains en route to Sherwood, in the back seat of the car with Gail's crazy but very psychic friend Leisha when she touched my gold bangle. Turned her head quizzically to the side.

"Who gave you that bracelet Tanya?"

"My paedophile godfather Uncle Trevor"

"Why after all these years are you still wearing it?"

"It is pretty...It is 9 carat gold...I have owned it for 33 years" I stammered.

"Get rid of it!" I stared at her. Women have a long history of being envious of me. "Why? You want it?!"

Gail in the driver seat. "Get rid of it Tanya. Bad energy".

Me: "It is my reminder of my value as a child. Also I can't ever replace it. No money remember?!"

Leisha unclasped it. Took it in her hands. Studied it fiercely. Then casually tossed it out the window on the highway so unexpectedly that I could not prevent it.

"Hey you mad bitch, what you do that for?

"It had to go. It is long past due. Time to get rid of anything that belonged to those people and their price tags."

I shrugged. I still had the beautiful gold torc my sister gave me a few years prior. My torc. A warrior symbol.

3 years ago my gold torc broke. No money to replace it. So I donned my bronze one that my mother had bought for me. A few weeks ago the bronze one broke too.

So now I will buy my own. A wolf head one from Crafty celts. If I ever get enough money in the future I will have a solid gold one made up.

Not an accident my fucked up family gave me Torcs. Even they knew I am a powerful passionate fighter for life. Love. And Freedom. Justice if we can get it (I never got it!). Those evil cunts, the Scherers, have my inheritance which would have been some compensation for the decades of abuse I suffered.

So here I sit. In poverty. But rich in Spirit. Dreaming of days of gold. And self proclaimed success.


I was afraid to run away. Programmed that way. My mother, the street Angel, took a job in a Borstal for delinquent girls. They had mostly been arrested for petty crimes, mostly just run aways.

Running from the same shit (aged 14 or 15) that I could not escape (aged 6 and 7). My mother took pity on these girls. They loved her and called her Aunty Mitzi.

At night she put me to work stringing up lovebead necklaces. It was 1971. I had nimble fingers but trouble threading the cotton in the needle. But the beading I could do.

It was kind of therapeutic. I made one or two each night. Next day Mum would take them with her to work and gift them to the girls.

One day Mum came home in shock. She had arrived at work that day to discover that one of the female butch-dyke guards had almost beaten a girl to death with a wire coat hanger.

There was so much blood all over the floor. The girl had been rushed to hospital. Mum had threatened to report it to the authorities. So they fired her, on the spot. She sat down, white-knuckled, shaking. Her face pale and her jaw set in determination.

"That, Tanya is what comes of running away. They get you in the end." Then she cried. I cried too. Nowhere safe. No one safe. Not anywhere.

Next morning the phone rang loudly. Mum and I looked at each other. She answered it.

"What? What are you doing? How did you make this call?"

Three girls had snuck out and run to a local phone box. Mum held the phone close to my ear. I heard them all clamouring to be heard.

"Aunty Mitzi, Aunty Mitzi?! Where are you? Why aren't you at work? We miss you. We need you!"

"They gave me the sack. Because I gave you love beads and was too kind". She sobbed.

I heard their grievous wails down the phone line.

"Now my darlings, get back inside that hell-hole before they notice you are missing or they will try to kill you too."

More crying and screaming.

"Ok ok. Love you too. Have lovely lives. Take care".

Aunty Mitzi takes a Valium.

I sit. Making love beads. Never run away. No escape no escape. Worse!

Down the beach I go. Freedom. Or to Mrs Robertson for some proper nurturing. A chenille dressing-gowned embrace and a "Mer-in-Ga". Meringue. Light as a feather and melts on your tongue. Like the lies my mother told me when she said she loved me. No escape.


We are chilling on the back steps. I don't feel good today but we are quietly observing the shift in the inclement weather and my rapid cycling mood.

Beau is wishing De Mama would just let him be the serial killer he was born to be. He even hassled Mushu today. We need an adventure.

I am so tired and raw but on the brink of doing something crazy like when I invited myself (off the street) to an outlaw bike organisation.

My lovely hairdresser asked me yesterday if I still had the courage to do something like that again. I said "Hell yeah! I had a great time".

Wild people "get" me and are often very protective of me. Survivors! Find your vibe find your tribe.

I am dressed but lying back down on my bed. Dreary rainy day. I think I will just rest and go with any spurts of activity that might kick in during the day. I want to paint my dining table black in preparation of decoupaging it. It could happen today?...

21 September 2015

I have had a nice cup of tea, ate remaining chippies. Now hungry for something, not sure what, perhaps something sweet, like Life, Love, happiness and peace.

21 September 2014

Labile Mood. Probably from physical exhaustion. Craving cheesecake cos I just shared a recipe grrr! TV on but it just sounds like Blah blah blah Drone drone. I think I better go back to bed before I drive to McDonalds and satisfy my bratty inner child craving for fattening food comfort cheesecake.

I finished off the lovely dinner I cooked Friday night so technically I should not still be hungry!

Berst played beautifully. The night was magic and they played my favourite Mosh out song Zombie at the end! Fabulous! I may not be able to walk for next 3 days.

If you want me, I will be soaking in a hot bath then in Bed. Non compis mentis recovery mode. Old rock chicks can't cut the mustard for ongoing stamina. Now I could just Dieee but happy as a pig in mud. Love you, guys and girls.

Tonight I met a woman close to my age. She said she had watched me dancing wildly and was amazed how I found the energy. I said "It's Madness!" I told her the trick is to pretend you are 16 and you finally got to go to your first wild party but there are no parents to tell you what you can't do!

She gasped, put her hand over her mouth and yelled out . "Fuck Yeah!!" Then shyly apologised for swearing. I said "Wow! You get it!" And we giggled. Life is good when you let it be.

I had a wonderful night dancing with my beautiful friends, Karen, Shauna, Sam, Sarah and Scottie. Now I am completely exhausted and will have to crawl to the Myer Centre to get to my car. Ouchies!

21 September 2013

Home at Crystal's place. Danced all night so feet are in excruciating pain but it is worth it.

4.11 am and not tired. So a nice cup of tea is in order then perhaps will sleep later.

Crystal went to a party in my car. Was rather odd watching her drive away after she dropped her key off to me in Elizabeth st outside the casino lol. Still hard to wrap my head around the fact that my kid is almost 28 now and the responsible adult in the family while I am having my third Renaissance: corset, long gypsy skirt, boots and all!

Two Irish men followed me up George Street after I had had a weird interchange with them while I ate pizza. So I asked them if they were stalking me so 2 cops crossed the road to make sure I was okay so I thanked them for looking after me.

The Irish men scarpered lol and the cops followed me down the Queen Street mall which was rather disconcerting but kind of nice to know they were walking behind me. On the way to Adelaide Street I was alone and walking from the Tenerife bus stop was also a bit scary but I got to Crysral's safe and sound.

Dawn… Awake. Feet reminding me that I am an old woman. Not liking it one bit. Brain still alert. Well I did sleep from 8.30 am until 8 pm. Gosh darn it.

Maybe I should have gone home with Irish dudes after all? If only they hadn't aggravated me. Why do men think firing a woman's temper up will get them Laid? Idiots! However, here I am anxiously awaiting Crystal who is out in my car. Haven't done that since she was a teenager... Waited up for her lol!

21 September 2011

I had a lovely day catching up with my cousins in the Myer Centre for our monthly get-together. Tomorrow I have to see my psych which is just as well as I forgot to get my script filled today, so I will have to remember to do that tomorrow...whoops! Lots of news and gossip for my doctor, so I'm sure he'll be very bemused!

21 September 2009

Copyright Tanya Désirée Arons


About the Creator

Tanya Arons

I write about my life experiences. I write about complex ptsd, the agonies, the angst and my post traumatic growth. About Beauty, Truth and Honour and little vignettes of comfort from the spirits that love me: living and dead. I also Dance!

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