Resolutions and Mixed Tapes

Let me tell you story. You must of course agree to believe that this happened to a friend of a friend of mine, or I shall refuse to continue. OK? OK.

There was a girl who lived a life blessed with love, beauty, friends, words, brilliance, sunshine, great legs and the prettiest face. She walked a privileged path that consisted of blissful moments and first world problems.

She sat alone on the night of the last day before the last day of the year. It had been an amazing year of lessons learnt, treasures earnt and friendships burnt... down to the ground like a pyre. Adele smashed away in the background saying sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead. She listened and sniggered. She had learnt that the past is the past and if you can take something or anything or a smidge of a story from it then you'd done OK. OK?

We were born and raised in a summer haze, Adele continued. This time she smiled because we were. The sun has always shone on us.

For all the ups and ups and downs and crashes and grey bits, life was pretty damn good.

She is 35 years old. She is smiling. She looks to tomorrow and likes the way the plans are laid. She likes that the grey bits are hazy and unwritten. She is good with life.; good with the people she loves; good with the future; and good with the results of the choices she has made.

Now let it play out.

Nothing compares

No worries or cares

Regrets and mistakes

They are memories made

Now you're just somebody that I used to know

There is a song bouncing off the walls at the moment by Gotye called Somebody that I used to know. My need to listen to it over and over again comes late at night at that time when it takes clenching teeth to keep my eyes open.

I was sitting at my work desk on the 22nd of September wondering what I'd forgotten to do. Did I miss someone's birthday? Did I have an appointment for a pedi or a massage? Was there a bill due?

I forgot it again. Even after toughening myself up a couple of weeks in advance for what would have been my fifth wedding anniversary or our 14th year together, I still forgot.

Right now, that seems to be a good thing but I can't lie. When I did remember, it ached. Ached through my entire body. Skin, organs, limbs and the split ends lying on the floor of my hairdresser's floor.

There may always be a pain there... where he used to be. Even now he's just somebody that I used to know.

Pussyfoot

Some days, I lack the patience to be diplomatic due to tiredness or stresses. Other times, it is due to the person I am speaking with.

Some people say things that show so little understanding of a topic or situation that it would take a huge amount of effort and time to spell out why and justify every reason at every corner.

That is when I get short-tempered and smack them on the nose and say "bad monkey".

I don't have them killed and this should count for something.

Winning

For the regular readers... yes, Mum, Dad and Candace, you will remember that I had a little issue recently with a crazed stalker bogan. He shall not be named here. That's mainly because he hasn't quite worked out how to spell his own name.

Anyway, I was at a stage where I wanted to get a domestic violence order again him. I was told this would stop the harassment from him and his satanic harem of skanks, who wanted to tell me to leave him alone. They aren't the smartest because I wasn't actually having anything to do with him, which is why he sent them after me. Ahh, bogan genius did not peak at the invention of thongs as formal wear.

I nearly got the restraining order, even knowing that he'd love the attention.

Then one of my besties, Cathie asked me a question that changed the way I saw this situation and every one to follow.

Do you want to win or do you want to be happy?

I wanted to be rid of him and happy. Winning may be important to drug-fueled cocaine snorting washed up TV stars but I knew that wasn't what I wanted. No more drama with someone I wished I'd never made the mistake of stopping to talk to. No more death threats in the mail. No more sentences made of single syllable words. No more.

So yes, I chose to do nothing but ignore and endure. Luckily for me, people with small brains are easily bored and wander off to upset someone else's life.

When someone is making your life hard, ask Cathie's question.

Trust Degraded

One of my New Year's Resolution was to be more open to different kinds of people in the world. To not judge and reject people because they failed to meet a set criteria for those I would associate with.

For the last three months, that attitude has seen an array of characters waltz in and out of my life. It has to be said that I have never made a more stupid of harmful resolution in my entire life.

It was a mistake.

I have been used, abused, fooled, embarrassed, humiliated, hurt and brutally re-educated by the lowest forms of life, crawling this pretty enough planet.

Men have told me all I want to hear and then turned on me. Women have gained my trust, only to betray it so easily.

Wow! What a seedy world there is underneathe that one that I inhabit. There be dragons.

Resolutions are a good idea because they give you a new set of rules by which to try new things and reform your life. They don't always work. It's not often they fail so miserably for me but I guess that happens.

My trust has been degraded but I am learning more about myself and the environment around me. Is this a bad thing? Yes and no. It menas I will be less trusting but that is a good thing. Am I learning? Yes and no. Some of the things I am learning suck though and I wish I didn't have to suffer so much to gain the knowledge. Has this changed me for the better? Yes and no. I see that there is so much bad in the world but the contrast has made me appreciate the good.

For the record, this resolution has stopped dead. There will be no more accepting idiots for who they are and thinking they are deep-down good types. Nope, first impressions. Trust my instincts. Be less bleeding heart and more realistic.

Must I be dead?

Today has been lovely relaxed Saturday. My Mum and I hung out together and did our own thing. Siena the kitty and I, had a nice afternoon nap in the aircon while the humidity of Darwin belts those poor souls outside around. After a quick trip to the shop, I scored peaches and an affordable sparkling white with the soul intent of making Bellinis. They are currently my favourite drink, since I can sip on them and not really be drinking much. Sweet and fruity - perfect for the hot tropics.

I decided to make some meatballs for dinner, when the sun set at just after 7pm-ish. While packing the dishwasher and cleaning the kitchen, I came across a white envelope with my name on it. My name had been spelt "Demana" and my address was scribbled on it in big round writing. I opened it, thinking it was something a friend had dropped off in my mailbox. There wasn't a stamp.

In it was a plain white card containing a threat.

















I did what I was advised and called the police. I reported it and was advised to go in and talk to someone on Monday. It is quite terrifying but my mother is super strong and never gets shaken by anything.

The first police call-centre person that I spoke to was quite helpful. The second guy said to me that there was little that could be done and the police can't get involved unless I'm actually hurt. He said "threats happen all the time". I actually did ask him if I must be physically hurt before anyone cares. He said that is when the police can do something.

This is not the world I live in. I'm not used to threats and people knowing where I live. It's scary. To be told that nothing I'm feeling is valid until something terrible happens to me, makes me feel even worse.

I probably did the wrong thing but I called my ex and asked if him and his girlfriends could please stop harassing me. I wanted to try to reason with him before bringing in the cops. He laughed at me and said that he can't stop people from threatening me. He's not the police. This isn't his problem.

Knowing where I stand is good. I'm not going to retaliate. I'm going to keep collecting evidence and go to the police. I will not be waiting until someone physically harms me or kills me before getting help.

The police can expect a visit from me.

Invisible Idiot

There is a computing joke about a guy giving a demonstration of a language translation application that can translate anything to and from different languages. He chooses to translate the phrase "Out of sight, out of mind" from English to Chinese and back again. The result is "Invisible Idiot". The computer took "Out of sight" to mean "Invisible" and "Out of mind" to mean "Idiot". Together, the original meaning is lost but we are left with a literal and logical translation.

This is how I now refer to my ex. He is out of sight and out of mind and that means that my trigger for my depression is no longer present in my life. Happiness abounds and there are no regrets. Life moves forward and upward, with me smiling and blowing kisses the whole time.

A few days ago, he decided I should be the first person to know that he was moving to Chicago with Thoughtworks. Two years after leaving, he thought I would be thrilled for him? Celebrate his success? Honestly, I'm glad when anyone does well at their job. Good for him. I still don't think I am the person to tell about it.

A friend pointed out to me that men will often leave their life long partners and go out in the world and re-sow their wild oats. They'll find friends to party with, women to kiss and a freedom like they forgot they could ever have. Then a few years down the track, the party slows down a little and those people who supported you in your breakup go back to giving you some of their time but not all of it all the time, as they did when you needed them. The women they had short term relationships with or a few months of whatever, start to bore them and they move on. The job they spend hours on starts to be a job again and dedicating non-stop time to it isn't as liberating as it once felt.

Then one day, he gets the biggest news of his career. He is stoked. He wants to share it. The first person he calls is that person that he used to share all his moments with. The woman who would squeal at the end of the phone and do a little dance, in shared excitement. The person who would demand they go out and celebrate or bring home a bottle of French champagne and talk of nothing else but the thrill of the achievement.

But too bad. She is no longer that person. She has friends, family and her own person to share life with now. She doesn't miss him. She doesn't feel any real thrill at hearing his achievement. She is actually a little surprised when she sees the caller ID on her phone.

Where was I again? Oh yeah, hypothesising.

You can not walk out of someone's life in such a destructive way and believe that two years later she will be waiting for your call and be thrilled to hear your news.

Remember how you said I had to move on. Right back atchya, my old love.

You're an invisible idiot.

Single Bright Female

2010 has been a bloody fantastic year for me. Yes, it's relative to the hell that was 2009 but I'll take what I can get. It was a very good year in so many ways. One of the ways I want to discuss is what it has been like to be single.

I won't lie. My first thought on starting all over again and being "alone" was not a happy green field filled with bunnies and butterflies. No sir, it was more a moment of terror that spanned a long few moments.

That was 2009. That's last decade, baby!

At the beginning of 2010, I decided on a new year's resolution that was only shared with a few select members of the Mana inner circle of awesomeness. That resolution was to spend one whole year on my own. I would not get in to relationships or look for love like a lost puppy.

This was implemented in several different ways including filling my time with the distractions of hobbies and habits that were chosen to switch my brain from Damana-in-a-couple mode to something else. What that was, I was quite willing to wait and see.

People told me the clock was ticking and some even called me passed it, at the ripe old age of 34. I ignored and kept on with my promise to myself that this year was the year that I would be my own person and find a way to be alone without being lonely.

My life then filled with time for good friends. It has been like being at university again - hanging out with my girlfriends, drinking a glass of wine and talking about life, the universe and everything. Those friendships were nurtured and have become a rock that I know I can lean on at any moment from now until... well, for ages anyway. They are what I call real friends. You know that saying... Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies. I have me some body movers although I'm sure Bernada and Kellie would not be happy if gunk got on their shoes.

There was time for family and observing the wonderful relationships between them and their significant others. Seeing how people can treat each other with respect, not hurt others and love through everything life throws at them. For better or worse; richer or poorer; and in sickness and health.

There were propositions for relationships - instantaneous; lasting; long since dead; casual; formal; odd; and often unwanted and unsolicited. These from possible princes; predators; punks; already taken partners; pretentious pricks; and an assortment of actually nice guys.

I said thank you but I'll pass this time.

Yes, I understand that they may never come around again. That love is important. That people are in different stages of their lives. That it seems nothing can make me happy.

The truth is that I found who I am this year. I don't know exactly what I want but I have a flaming good idea of what I don't want and some clues on the direction I am heading.

We each must be self-contained and able to identify the "me" in the throng of people or the intimacy of a relationship. My learning has brought me to understand who I am and who I would like to be. If being single is not my lot and a person walks in one day and rocks my world then I'll still have a strong sense of who Damana is. I won't lose her to the sum of a relationship, like I would have in the past.

Now that I can like me, other people can too.

Protocols

Ummm, excuse me.

My friend Megan (aka @Gabfran) described me as a people observer. It wasn't until that moment that I thought of it that way. Having grown up a maths geek and transforming in to a fluttering computing geek, I have spent most of my life not really understanding what other people think.

There is a disconnect between me and the next person. Thanks to my mother's repeated teachings to myself and my siblings about putting yourself in other people's shoes, I have a good amount of empathy and an addiction to shoes. Having an understanding of people was not something that was innate for me, like it was for my younger sister. Most days, most people were mostly unfathomable to me.

Because of this lack of understanding and like a good little conceptualist, I took it upon myself to look at what was happening and attempt to see the patterns of behaviour. Over time and by about the time I hit my late teens, I had a fairly good model of human behaviour. That does by no means say that I understood or even now understand people. I doubt I ever truly will. What I do know though is how to listen and absorb what is being communicated and understand the meaning and motivation behind the message.

It may sound mechanical, constructed or even insincere but it isn't. People are just a hobby of mine. I often refer to my portfolio of friends and the idea that you can tell more about someone from the people they surround themselves with than from the person themselves. We all wear masks but our treatment of others will often betray us.

“Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use.” -- Emily Post

One thing that bothers me on each visit to my home in Darwin, is the way that people are willing to treat each other. Of course, these people I speak of are the exception and not the rule but they are more common than pandas.

Having worked in my sister's jewellery shop regularly, I have experienced moments where I spoke to someone who entered the shop and got not even eye contact in acknowledgement. At first I thought I'd done something to offend them or had been too forward but on reflection a simple "hello" is hardly toe stomping.

It seems that people with little to no social skills do actually exist. They walk this earth and look just like everybody else. They pay taxes. They breed. They own property and to my peril, they like fashion jewellery too on occasion.

I often used to take this behaviour and other more subtle inhabitations of this as some reflection on my manners or presence. Then it came to pass that no matter how much more considerate, respectful or thoughtful I was, these people never changed. Words like "please", "thank you" and "excuse me" did not exist to them. Other people were and are a disturbance in their life and there is not protocol demanding they be civil so they are not.

“Good manners sometimes means simply putting up with other people's bad manners.” -- H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Not all is lost though. In my life, as in my work and all interactions, I believe that the most powerful way to change the world is to set a good example yourself. Lead the way through demonstration and consistency. If someone is rude, don't be rude back. Rather be who you are, consistent in your behaviour and respect for others.

I may not know a lot about people but I do know that kindness is like a spark that lights a fire. The way you treat others will bring the same back on you. Kill the bad manners with good manners. You won't save all people but saving people is over-rated. Save yourself. Be someone you can live with. Please.

Thank you.

The Tim Show

Tim was the best man at my wedding and the most relaxed

There was this guy a knew when I lived in Canberra, called Tim. He was a pretty easy going kind of guy and not much seemed to phase him. When I was affronted by the smallest snub, he would smile and tell me not to take it personally. My rejoinder was often a quick snap back of "it's happening to me so how do I not take it personally?"

Tim and I didn't really understand each other. We were both a friend of a friend and that node was enough to bring us together regularly. In any other situation, Tim would have driven me insane with his overly-relaxed view of all that occurred around him.

One day over many beers, I asked him to explain to me how he saw the world. Why didn't he seem pissed at anything or anyone, ever? Why was stress never knocking at his door yelling "Police, we have a battering ram!"

He told me in a very matter-of-fact way that was because he was the star of the Tim show. On the Tim show everything was about him. When people interacted with him, they came on to the Tim show to do a cameo. When the characters told him something, he took it at face value. If he went for a job and they said he was over-qualified then he simply took that as fact. When someone rocked the boat in the Tim show, it didn't sink. That was because any negative stuff was more learning of morals on the Tim show.

The way he saw it, each other person in the world has their own show that they star in. Sometimes there are spin-offs and guest appearances. They didn't always remember that other people were on their shows because it was all about them. If a decision seemed mean or affected Tim badly, that was either because they had a lesson for him or they were too consumed in their own show to realise the consequences. People were not bad. They were just thoughtless at times.

I have passed on this tale of the Tim show to many people in my time, when they needed to know that it is all about you, except when it is all about someone else. The world isn't made up of good and bad; right or wrong; or even black and white. It's just a bunch of sometimes mismatched TV shows with egocentric stars who are teaching and learning from each others lessons.

If you have a day when you feel a little or a lot stressed by those around you. Treat it like the Tim show or the Damana show. Don't stress too much. Tomorrow's episode is going to be better.

Manic Pain

I wish I could find the strength to explain the pain at the aftermath of a hypomanic episode to you.

Mine are usually fueled by drinking for a few days in a row but can come upon me without any help, if they choose. This the opposite to the low of depression. It is not like being fully bi-polar. That usually involves mania and full loss of control.

This instead is like being so drunk or drugged that you have zero inhibitions. The thing is, you don't have to be drinking or drunk or drugged at the time for this to occur. It's just the result or precursor to a depressive low.

You feel invincible, mighty, incredible and bulletproof.

In the same way that a depressive state can drive you to self-destruct, so can a hypomanic state.

Usually, I don't have any idea of how much damage I've done. Usually, to friendships.

The worst thing is the shame you feel after it. The loss at destroying another friendship. The fear of what you've done or said. Although mine are few and far between, they are there.

I'm sorry if you have suffered at my hand when this is the case. I will not blame anyone else for it as it is me. I am it. There is no excuse good enough for the person it happens to.

I am sorry.

Grrrrrrr

Of late, I have started many conversations and left my friends pondering "What is this thing Beauty?" There have been answers; suggestions; theories; disapproval; disagreement; confusion; and much silence on the topic.

The first definition you get when you google it is...

Beauty: the qualities that give pleasure to the senses.

I like that definition but it leaves so much open to interpretation. That is the point though. Beauty is open to interpretation. What I find beautiful is not necessarily what you will find it to be. Instead of searching for a definition or an equation, I should have been trying to work out what you do when you find it.

Have you ever seen three Pomeranians chase a kitten? They run and bark. The kitten runs for it's life. The pom poms spread out and circle it. The kitten stands still and puffs up it fur to look as scary as possible. The doggies move in. They have done it, caught the kitten. Then they look at each other and think "what do we do now?" The oldest and wisest dog and pack leader decides that the best plan is the lick the kitten. He licks it. The kitten holds still. The pack of dogs happily grooms the kitteh. The cat learns that you don't have to fear the dogs. They just want to play and then lick you.

What the hell is Damana talking about?

Well, beauty is the kitten. She's often a little unaware of what the pursuers want and feels a little insecure. They come at you in groups. They approach alone. They pursue. Beauty isn't sure why they are and tries to accept and deal with it. When beauty is finally caught, she stands there wondering what will happen next. An experienced pursuer knows that this is the time that you show her that you like her, so she knows it is going to be ok.

I know so many beautiful women who are actually stunning on the outside and lovely on the inside but they have no idea. They stand there wondering what you all really want from her, if anything. We often look at beautiful people with brilliant minds and assume they know they are amazing and that we love them. The lesson the alpha Pomeranian teaches us is that it's best to tell her why. Tell her it's ok. It's not necessary to lick anyone. Thought I should head that one off early.

If you know someone who you consider stunning, beautiful, hot or amazing then you should tell her so. Odds are she isn't as aware of it as you think.

Be your inner alpha Pomeranian.

How Twilight Saved My Mind

Early last week, the declaration was made that I feel I have reached 60% healing on the way to recovery and victory over the depression that has held on to me for so long. When I hit 50%, I owned it and it just bugged me unlike before that when I was at it's beck and call.

It probably proves my insanity is ripe in that I regularly declare out loud that this depression is my b*tch. It damn well is now and thank goodness for that.

So why the title? How did a teenage love story about sparkling vampires written badly by a mormon 30 something save my mind? Good question. As with most of my answers, you won't see this one coming.

The first thing that goes when you are depressed is your mind. "Well obviously", I hear you proclaim. To be more specific is that your ability to concentrate disappears right near the beginning of your depression. All that consumes your mind is a series of negative thoughts that run through your head so fast that you can't catch them long enough to think your way out of them. It's one good mental kicking after another until you are left too tired to think, sleep or concentrate.

Literature on depression says that it will usually pass within 3-5 years of starting. That is assuming that you are not one of the unlucky ones who suffers life long depression. I still don't know if I'm lucky or not. The progress I am making at least leaves me relaxed in the knowledge that I will be making my own mind up from now on and not some behavioural triggered chemical reaction.

Before I realised I was suffering from any mental illness (ouch! It hurts to use that term on myself but I should own it to own it), it frustrated me to no end that concentrating on anything that required higher level brain function was almost impossible. A workmate (Phil Calcado) once commented on how short an attention span I had when he'd shared a link to a blog post on some topic and he saw me take an entire day to get through reading it. That isn't the normal me by the way.

When my mind was like this and sometimes still is, I don't give up. I persist in reading; doing mind puzzles like crosswords and playing scrabble; writing code outside of work; and painting or being creative in a tangible way. It can take me up to ten times as long to finish a task as I would pre-depression. For me, it was the finishing that made it worth while. That was the point to celebrate and feel triumphant over the fatigue.

My library before the divorce contained many classic books and great works of fiction and non-fiction in every genre you can imagine. It was both my ex-husband and I who loved collecting and reading books. We spent more of our disposable income on books than anything else I can think of, when we were together. Yes, even my shoe collection.

Towards the end of my marriage and the beginning of the depression that almost took me down, I couldn't read anything much at all. My feed reader was always at 1000+ items and the pile of books to read was growing rather than shrinking. That was when I changed tack.

The new feeds I subscribed to were short reads from comics and picture blogs with lolcats to one paragraph updates from comedians and teenage girls circumnavigating the world. Stuff that didn't strain my brain but still allowed me to read. At that time, my book club decided to read the first book of the Twilight series. If you have been living under a rock then it's about a teenage girl in a small American country town who has a chaste relationship with a vegetarian vampire. It's been described as a man falling in love with his food in a New Zealander kind of way :)

The writing is simple and aimed at teenage girls and housewives. Oprah wouldn't touch it on her book club and most book geeks will deny ever having even touched the books. There are four in the series and I read them all. They were a breeze to read and took me around three to four weeks to work my way through them. The achievement I felt at the end of finishing the series was brilliant. I'd managed to absorb the simple plot and get to know the characters without much effort. Yes, they will not win the Pulitzer or Nobel in Literature but they made reading accessible to me.

My ex put them down at any chance he got and made sure I knew he thought them to be for pathetic women with no lives or brain cells. For me, that did not matter. I started them and read them all the way through. Like the lolcats and 140 character tweets that kept me entertained in those days, they also helped me keep my brain in use. That was valuable.

Now, I read a lot more feeds with a lot more words. My books are becoming more complex and challenging intellectually but I keep the fluff around and still roll in it like a dog who has found a dead fruit bat in the tropics.

What matters is not what you read but that you do read. Elitism is a way of excluding people and only makes the insecure feel superior long enough until the self-doubt kicks in and makes them find fault in something else.

Read whatever you want. Play Scrabble or Upwords. Giggle at pictures of badly spelled cakes or comic books with excessive violence. It doesn't matter what does it for you at the time, just keep doing it. Yes, therapy + medication + environment will help you but so will keeping the brain going.

Thank you sparkly vampires and teenage angst. Thank you cheezeburger cats and the Watchmen. Thanks for keeping me ticking. I appreciate you.

A conversation with Mum the geek

Mum: I'm doing IT stuff.
Me: You mean you're using a computer.
Mum: Yeah, watch out.

It took a while

Those of you who read this blog have been on the rollercoaster journey of the last six months with me. It's been bad and it's been good. Today was a turning point of great importance and joy.

This morning I woke up to a text from my lovely sister asking if we were still on for our proposed trip to Crocosaurus Cove. My instant response was "Absolutely!"

This may sound like a normal answer to a normal question, on a normal Sunday but it is as different a moment as I could manage without walking around upside down and naked.

Today was the first day that I got up and got out of bed without forcing myself to. I didn’t have to say “Get up and move, Damana” this time. Instead, I felt I wanted to.

It has been well over 2 years since I can remember thinking that way at all.

I am sure there will be other bad days but today was a turning point. Tonight I sit here listening to John Hiatt singing “Have a little faith in me” and thanking all of you for having a little in faith in me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever make it to this day and I love you all for helping me get here.

Smile. I am now :o)

See pictures of today's adventure here.

He whispers to me...

He whispers to me that everything is ok and I believe him.

Her Sadness

Unfortunately, my camera is not the greatest and it's made the colours too light and bubbly. It's much darker in real life. I like the rocks in this one. Not sure what to do with the face yet or maybe nothing at all.

Working in Finance Hasn't Made Me a Facist Yet

I'm still in the same place I was when I took this test 3 years ago. Take the test yourself. I'm not as big a pinko as someone I live with :)

Another Personality Test

Discovered via Kate's blog.

Can you spot a fake smile?

Humans are not very good at spotting a fake smile. This may be because it's easier to deal with not knowing what everyone else is thinking. I got 14/20 on this test so be careful the next time you want to fake that smile at me :)

Linked from new new favourite blogger, Ines