Daily Prompt: Mad as a Hatter

Tell us about a time when you flew into a rage. What is it that made you so incredibly angry?

There are countless memories I have of when I’ve, quite literally, gone into a white-hot table-flipping rage

But I think the one incident that tops this list belongs to one particular evening when I had a confrontation with my father on the telephone.

It was back in 2003 in the lead up to my 21st birthday. He had expressed some desire to want to visit me in Melbourne and spend time with me for my birthday. Apparently the previous 10 years of not really wanting to even be around him didn’t seem to get the message across to him, so you can imagine my confusion when he said he wanted to visit.

I should point out that at this moment in time, I had been living in Melbourne for almost two years, and made it crystal clear to my mother and my brother that under no certain terms, were they to disclose my address to him. The result of this, was that he would then send letters / cards to my mothers house, and she would then forward them on to me, along with a letter from herself as well.

More often than not, as soon as I saw his handwriting on the enclosed envelope, I’d roll my eyes, sigh heavily and mentally prepare myself for the emotional drivel that was contained in the contents of the envelope.

Then, naturally, I’d call mum straight away

And this one particular night, after a very, very long counselling telephone conversation with my mum, I reached the decision that I had to be upfront with him and that I had to tell him that I didn’t want him to come to Melbourne and I didn’t want to see him.

See, as much as I can be a bitch, I actually get stressed out when it comes to confrontation. I can’t do it. In my head I can, but actually physically following through with it is a completely different story. So, when I’m on the phone to my mum, I was getting all fired up saying stuff along the lines of ‘yeah, and I’m gonna tell him I don’t want to see him! And I’m gonna tell him not to bother coming to Melbourne at all! Why the fuck should I be the one to feel obligated to drop everything to see him, of all people I can’t stand. Fuck that. Right, well, I’m gonna go call him now and tell him and get it done with!!’.

I was ready for a fight. I called his number and waited for his rough, masculine voice to answer the phone.

Over the course of that almost three-hour conversation, not only did I bring the heat for my ‘fight’, I bought twenty years of repressed emotional turmoil that my father was responsible for. He brought me to the door, and I opened it.

And it all came flooding out.

All of it.

Everything. Every instance and memory of emotional blackmail. Every moment he destroyed a small piece of my soul. Every time he made me feel like I didn’t exist… did somebody say daddy issues??!!

I unleashed twenty-years of pain, and wasn’t taking any prisoners. I was out for blood.

Nothing had prepared me for what came out of my fathers mouth during that conversation. One little sentence, which I will not repeat here, but one little sentence that completely changed me. Permanently. One little sentence that ended everything right there and then.

Completely shocked, speechless and outraged, I hung up the phone and sat there in a stunned silence before everything suddenly made sense.

I called mum immediately, incoherent and crying incoherently.

I relayed the entire conversation verbatim to her, and tried to make more sense of it. In doing so, I also put mum into a table-flipping rage. During our conversation, I managed to briefly calm down and the sadness and the hurt and the pain quite rapidly turned to rage. It also didn’t help that during my two-hour conversation with mum, he tried calling at least 9 or 10 times.

By that stage, I’d had enough.

‘Mum, he’s calling again. I’m gonna go and deal with this….’

Just as I hung up the phone to mum, he called my phone again.

‘…WHAT?!’

‘I, ah, I just wanted to see if you were okay?’

I needed to take a couple of deep breaths before I responded because all I could think in my head was pretty much:

I tried to remain as calm and rational as humanly possible. I think it lasted maybe three minutes… maybe. I don’t really remember much of that conversation because I was so full of rage, I was physically shaking. All I remember out of that was telling him that I was done and as of that moment I wanted nothing more to do with him, and he was dead to me.

The last I remember hearing was my father on the phone crying and apologising and asking me not to say that. Correction, asking me not to ‘joke around’.

Who’s joking? I was serious. I was done. You don’t say something like that to somebody, ESPECIALLY YOUR OWN DAMN CHILD!!! As soon as I hung up that phone, nothing would ever be the same again. I was crying, he was crying, I was in a rage. I hung up and called mum and had a complete emotional breakdown on the phone.

I, again, relayed the entire conversation verbatim to her, in between my uncontrollable fits of crying. By the time I had finally calmed down it was about three or four in the morning, and I was feeling guilty about keeping my mum awake for so long and listening to me. We said goodnight and I hung up the phone and fell asleep.

On the floor. In the corner. In the dark. Where I had been crying.

I woke up later that day, and dragged myself into the shower. I then put myself to bed, cried myself to sleep, and didn’t leave the bed for another two days. I don’t remember eating. I think I had a biscuit at some point, and maybe a Berocca, but I’m not even sure about that.

I do remember that when I did get up, I felt confused and disoriented. I sat on the window-sill in the lounge room and called mum and asked if what happened, actually happened, or whether it was just a nightmare, and she confirmed everything. That day, I began the start of my new life.

From that point on, my father was dead to me. He was nothing to me. Nothing. At that point I decided to renounce my fathers influences on my name – middle and last name – and began the process to legally change my name to my mothers maiden name.

It was one of the best decisions I have ever made, and since that day, I have never looked back or had any feelings of regret for doing so.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/19/prompt-mad-hatter/

Daily Prompt: Close Call

Tell us about a bullet you’re glad you dodged — when something awful almost happened, but didn’t.

I think one of the situations that stands out the most was when I was still living at home with Mum. I think I was 18 and I had just returned from an emotionally exhausting visit to Sydney.

I had gone up there to spend a week or so at my grandmothers place, and whilst I was there, I was spending my week (and all my money) attending multiple dance classes at Brent Street and Sydney Dance Company. After only a couple of days, my (now deceased) grandmother and I had a massive fight this one argument. I don’t really remember what it was over, but I was actually quite shocked and upset over something that she had said. Something about me being a burden, and, oh that’s right, I confronted her about overhearing her conversation with my Uncle the previous day, in which she told him that I was stealing from her and was just using her so I could get money.

I remember when I heard that conversation, I left her place and went for a walk and called mum in absolute tears – upset because of what she had said, but moreso that it was coming from my grandmother!! In saying that though, she was a bit of stubborn ball-busting old lady, who was so set in concrete in her ways, she would refuse to listen to logic and reason… In hindsight, I guess it was also one of the reasons why we clashed so much.

…but that, again, is a whole different story.

So anyway, this one day I get home from the city and we have this big fight. There and then I pack my bag and tell her that I’m done with her, and no longer want anything to do with her. And I walked out the door.

As I’m walking down the driveway to head towards the train station, I’m fighting back this uncontrollable urge to completely break down into tears: I hadn’t actually planned to storm out like that, nor had I planned on exactly what I would do after I stormed out.

So I walked down the driveway, turned the corner and got to the park and had a small emotional breakdown. I didn’t want to call mum. I wanted to sort this out myself. I’m a resourceful person, I could manage something. Then I remembered, a friend of mine was meant to be arriving in Sydney today. I called Georgie and found out where she was staying, and after crying on the phone, she said I was more than welcome to crash with her for the next two nights before I head home.

What she didn’t tell me, was that she had made a friend on the train to Sydney. When I arrived, I met Dileep. He was a gorgeous, tall, dark, Sri Lankan guy with an incredible athletic body, and unbelievably flawless skin. He was beautiful. I’m not surprised Georgie and Dileep were instantly attracted to each other… beautiful people tend to do that. Like attracts like, and all that jazz.

So over the next two days I got to know more about Dileep. Fascinating and down to earth. A real mummy’s boy. Loves his family, and lived in Melbourne earning a pretty penny working at a historic and prestigious hotel.

We had such a great couple of days together. We played tourist with Dileep. Took him to Bondi; took him out clubbing; shopping; he took us out for brunch and dinner, it was such a fantastic time. It wasn’t until I saw him naked in the sauna, and saw him naked, that I realised exactly why Georgie was so fixated on Dileep.

**DISCLAIMER: Just for the record, no, we weren’t naked in the sauna, nor was it *that* kind of sauna. It was the Hotel sauna, and I was wearing my boardies. He was in (well-packed) speedos, and burnt his bum on the actual heater element. We doused him with cold water, but he still had to go to hospital and got quite a severe burn, and subsequently a nasty little scar. The heather melted a small part of the speedos to his skin, and had to have them surgically removed. It was rather terrifying at the time. Poor guy.

So, when it was time for us to leave, Dileep had decided to head back to Melbourne at the same time. Georgie and I were catching the train, and he convinced Dileep to catch the train with us – just so they could spend the last few hours of their ‘relationship’ together. Once we were on the train and halfway into our 8-9hr journey, Georgie convinced Dileep to stay in town with us for a couple of days.

However, Georgie kind of didn’t ask his parents if D could stay with them. He, for some reason was still convinced that they were unaware he was gay.

Girl, Blind Freddy would know you were gay at twenty-paces. He’d hear you swishing as you walk and know instantly. *lol* So, naturally, they asked if D could stay at my place. I called my mum and explained the situation and she was fine with it. It was strange, but she just went with it. (My mum is pretty awesome like that!).

We finally arrived home around 2 – 2:30am, and Georgie’s mum picked us up from the train station and dropped D and I at my place. I introduced him to my mum, then we got organised for bed.

The following night, when we got organised for bed, I went to bed and crashed and left him sitting outside talking to his family on the phone.

Being the heavy sleeper I am, I’m usually completely unaware of anything that happens whilst I’m asleep. In saying that, when I woke up the next morning, I was missing half my pyjamas, Dileep was spooning me, he was snoring, and the door was open. I kinda freaked out for all different reasons, ‘OMG THERE’S A HOT NAKED GUY SPOONING ME! OMG! GEORGIES BOYFRIEND-SLASH-FLING IS SPOONING ME!! OH GOD, WHAT IF MY MOTHER WALKS IN? OH GOD, WE’LL HAVE TO HAVE THAT CONVERSATION!! HOW DID MY TOP COME OFF? WHERE IS MY TOP? I NEED TO PEE!! HOW DO I GET OUT OF BED WITHOUT WAKING HIM UP?’

I slithered my way out from under D’s arm, army-rolled out of the bed onto the ground and found my top, put it on and just as I put my top on and walked towards the door, mum appears in the doorway, ‘sorry honey, did I wake you up? I thought you boys might be up sooner and I cooked breaksfast. Eggs, bacon, toast. Ya hungry?’. I wasn’t really paying attention, because I was too fixated on my racing heart wondering if mum had previously seen me in bed with a naked guy.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!!!

‘So THAT’S what I can smell. Well, I was just getting up to pee, but it smells awesome. I don’t know if I should wake him up?!’. Mum walked off back to the kitchen whilst I went to pee.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!!!

I walked back into the bedroom, closed the door and sat on the edge of the bed. Behind me I heard some movement and then felt a hand on my back and this smooth Sri Lankan accent, ‘What are you doing? What time is it? Are you coming back to bed?’.

OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD!!!

Turns out, nothing happened at all. I waited until later on when D was in the shower, and I called Georgie and told him what happened. Or, what didn’t happen to be more precise. He said that’s just what he’s like apparently. He just likes to cuddle.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved when Dileep announced he was returning to Melbourne. Georgie, naturally, was devastated and heart-broken. His whirlwind romance was drawing to an end, and like the good friend I am, I was there to hold his hand and talk some sense into him.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/25/daily-prompt-close/

Daily Prompt: Safety First

Share the story of a time you felt unsafe.

Jeebus, where do I begin on this one.

Let’s just say, that when I was younger, I have found myself in several not-so-pleasant situations. One of them quite serious, to the point it involved the police and somewhat of an emotional breakdown, but that’s not one that I’m prepared to share right now.

Hmmm, actually, now that I’m thinking about some of the other hair-raising situations I’ve been in, I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable talking about them either… Perhaps because they’re the kind of situations that generally you wouldn’t really want other people knowing. Kind of like a secret shame that will probably go with me to the grave – well, unless I write my memoirs on my death bed, and then everything will be out in the open. And boy wouldn’t that be full of juicy details!

Allow me to tell you the story of one of the times that I went back to Redneckville during school holidays…

SO, from memory I was home at mum’s place for the Christmas break. Seeing as how it’s summer here in Australia in December, and this was 10 years ago, and the country, it was one of those times where, during the day, the temperature would peak around 44-45 degrees celsius, so yeah, it was HOT!!

Now, I think this particular evening, my best friend at the time, B-Girl, and I had gone out to catch up with a group of her friends from high-school. I knew them, but half of them were all cunts to me in high school and bullied me for several years, so I would have rather watch them fall off a balcony to their death, or at least hideous disfigurement, than spend an entire fucking evening with them.

SO on this night, B-Girl and I head out to this wine bar we used to love going to (not that I actually drink, but it was just a cool hip little venue) and we’re upstairs on the balcony with these people. I’m doing my best to ignore half of them, (whilst visualising various ways I would like to see them die or seriously injure themselves) when all of a sudden a fight breaks out. A couple of the guys had called out to a bunch of guys on the street, being the smartarses they are, and then all of a sudden 3 or 4 of these guys were up on the balcony having a confrontation.

Some of the girls were trying to diffuse the situation, but the drunken arrogant wankers weren’t having a bar of it.

Voices started being raised; guys were getting in each other’s faces; girls were failing at calming anybody down and were leaving the balcony; and whilst all this was going on, I couldn’t WAIT for the punches to start being thrown, because I knew these guys would end up getting their arses kicked… and I was going to enjoy watching every minute of it.

…sure enough, within a matter of seconds, the first punch was thrown, and all hell breaks loose.

Now, if you’ve never actually been witness to a punch on, let alone a group punch on, then it’s an surreal event. The sound of knuckles hitting cheekbones and eye sockets. The whack sound that it makes as skin slaps skin. Watching bottles go flying, chairs go flying, saliva and hair everywhere – it’s like it happens all in slow-motion, just to ensure that you are able to visually take in everything that is happening in front of you. I’m actually surprised that there wasn’t a glassing incident.

Sure enough, security come bounding up the stairs and pull the guys off each other, and take the 4 guys from outside, back downstairs for questioning, whilst a couple of security guys remain up on the balcony to confront the geniuses who just had their arses handed to them.

Sidenote: the BEST bit of the whole thing was when Dumbfuck The Ringleader turns to me, and has the nerve to say to me “oh, and what about you, fucking fag, you didn’t even step in to fucking help us at all”. After taking a moment just to process the mind-numbing ridiculousness of that statement, and who it was coming from, I looked up at Dumbfuck and calmly responded, ‘I’m sorry, but did you just say what I think you’re saying? You, the one person who made my life a living fucking hell all through high school, YOU, HONESTLY THINK THAT I WOULD DO *ANYTHING* to help you. Let me make this abundantly clear to you, I’m actually quite disappointed that you aren’t being carted away in an ambulance right now, because lets be honest, nothing would make me happier. As for what just happened, you fucking brought that on yourself. You think that you’re going to get through life being able to hang shit on people and there not be any consequences? You caused that fight. You threw the first punch. You’re the reason Druggy Long-Hair has a possibly broken nose, and you have the nerve to stand there and feel pissed off AT ME, for not coming to your defense. WHAT A FUCKING JOKE. YOU ARE A FUCKING JOKE!! If anything, if I did actually choose to be foolish enough to get involved, I would have been on their side instead, and I would have fucking glassed you right in the face, and then maybe pushed you off the balcony onto the footpath and hopefully shattered your spine, but I made the choice to not get involved. (Police arrive upstairs) and look, now the cops are here, and I’ll gladly give my statement, and making it abundantly clear that those other guys were merely defending themselves. You started this. You deserve the consequences. I hope you fucking die.’

And then I left.

I walked back downstairs and gave my statement to an officer, along with a couple of others, and then B-Girl and I left.

…and we’re not even at the scary bit yet!!

SO, after all that drama, B-Girl and I went went a couple of doors down to the servo for a late night ice-cream, and then I decided to walk B-Girl home. By this stage it was about 2 or 3am. We were walking along this road which runs parallel to the horse-racing field, and as we approached a motel, we saw a couple of dogs walking towards us. As we continued along the footpath, the dogs walked under a streetlight, and we both realised that these were big dogs… and I mean BIG DOGS. I’m not entirely sure of the breed, but it was like the size of full-grown German Shepard, but a lot more fierce and aggressive.

B-Girl and I stopped. Then the dogs stopped.

They were watching us. We were watching them. B-Girl whispered, ‘holy fuck. What are we going to do?’

‘I dunno. Maybe we should cross the street?’, I replied and we slowly walked across the road. Although the dogs were at the other end of the block, we could see them quite clearly.

The dogs crossed the street as well.

‘Oh. Holy. Shit.’, I whispered, ‘Now what the fuck do we do?‘.

‘Maybe we just turn around and walk back towards the Main Street, and they will just go somewhere else?’, suggested B-Girl.

We turned around and started walking back the way we had come, and then we heard barking. Not like a normal dog bark, but the kid of bark you really don’t want to hear at 3am, when you’re on your own and you’re not the best runner. We stopped, and held each other’s hand. ‘What do we do? B, WHAT THE FUCK DO WE DO? OH MY GOD, THEY’RE GOING TO ATTACK US! WE’RE GOING TO BE FUCKING KILLED!!’. Clearly, I’d already decided this, and had given up all hope.

‘Let’s walk through the motel and lose them’, suggested B-Girl. We turned and crossed the road, and walked back towards the motel and walked through the entrance. ‘Worst case scenario, they follow us. I say we lock ourselves behind the pool fence, because they won’t be able to get in!’. Just as I said that, we saw the pool fence. A small child could easily fit through the bars of the fence, so a giant man-eating dog could definitely fit in there. We instantly scrapped that idea.

Behind the rear of the motel, the carpark opened out onto this vast area of empty land. Part of it had been turned into a kids playground, and the rest was all vacant land which ran behind the entire blocks houses. We started walking through there, and figured, we couldn’t hear any barking, the dogs must have just kept on going down the street. Right??

Wrong.

So very, very wrong.

As we’re walking through the dead dry grasses on this land, we see one of the dogs come back out on the footpath. It stopped. Barked a couple of times, and then sat there, watching us.

At that moment, the most terrifying thought was WHERE WAS THE OTHER DOG?? I couldn’t see it, and I couldn’t hear it. My mind started racing a thousand-miles and hour. The dog approached the grassed, and I picked up some big rocks and threw them at the dog. I must have hit it because it let out a yelp and walked off. Feeling somewhat relieved, we continued across this area of land, and turned left into another street.

2 blocks from B-Girls house. THANK FUCK FOR THAT. Feeling that we were home-free, we started to have a little giggle about how scared we both were… then we heard the breathing behind us.

Half a block away from us, just near the corner was one of the dogs. It began barking and then growling. Shit was about to get VERY real, VERY rapidly, and we were both trying to work out a strategy for avoiding it. Then it started walking towards us. Oh fuck. As it approached the block of land, the other dog joined him. Oh double fuck!! THEN, they started running towards us.

By this stage we both know we couldn’t outrun them. The next house we passed, we ducked into their side walkway, and ran into their backyard. At the backyard, there was a small grassy patch, a woodshed and a garage. We jumped into the woodshed, and like clockwork, the two dogs came running into the backyard. They came running right up to the screens on the woodshed, gowling and barking like crazy.

Suddenly a couple of lights in the house turn on, and the outside light turns on.

The dogs stop barking, and start at the backdoor of the house. A man walks out and picks up a shovel. He starts swinging at the dogs, who start going wild. Oh great. Now we get to witness a guy being attacked and mauled to death buy a couple of crazy dogs. Perfect end to the night.

B-Girl and I look at each other in terror and we hear this almighty WHACK!! Immediately followed by some yelping.

‘You kids alright in there?’, asked the man. ‘THey’re both gone, so you can get outta my woodshed if you please. It’s quite late, afterall!’ WE explained what happened, thanked the man and continued back on our way to B-Girls’ house. Walking along the footpath, we hear a dog barking.

Then again…

and again.

By now, we’ve decided on a very quick walk back to her place, and I’ll either just stay over or catch a taxi back to mum’s – a couple of blocks away.

Just as we approach B-Girls street, we hear something behind us. It’s getting louder and closer, and all very quickly ‘Fuck this. I’m not taking any chances. B-Girl, we need to fucking move. Let’s just fucking run!’. And run we did. I kept looking behind me as the dog started getting closer and closer, and then before I knew it, we were running towards B-Girls front door – watching the front yard like a hawk through the windows of the lounge room.

Sure enough, both dogs have found each other and they walk straight past B-Girls place.

‘Do you wanna just stay here the night, or do you wanna catch a cab?’, B-Girl queried.

‘No, I’ll just give it 10 mins and then I’ll walk home. It’s quicker and much cheaper. I’ll be fine’. Needless to say, those 10 mins became almost 30mins before I actually seriously considered walking out that front door. ‘Coast is clear’, I ploclaimed. I gave B-Girl a hug and a kiss and closed the front door behind me, and set off back to Mum’s place.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/21/daily-prompt-safety-first/

Day 5 – Change Your Name

If you had to switch your first name, what name would you choose and why?

It’s an interesting question to ask. Now that I think about it, I only know a couple of people who have changed their names (and I’m not including those who have gotten married). Everybody else just seems content with the name(s) that their parents have given them.

I remember when I was a little kid and I used to get teased for my name, and for about a week I wanted to change it. I wanted to be called Jacob. I don’t actually remember why I chose Jacob… I guess I just liked it at the time. But the reality was, it was too similar to what my real name is, so that didn’t last very long.

When I got to high-school, I really started to hate my surname. It was something that I got teased for. People made a nickname out of it which I really hated, and it’s the only name they’d call me. Usually, that’s the only word I’d hear before they shoved me into a wall of lockers, or just a wall, or punch me in the arm, or trip me over, or throw my notes across the classroom etc etc… that was almost always followed by “fucking fag!”. 

Clearly, high-school was just peachy!!

I only really started to enjoy my first name after I had a bit of an emotional breakdown when I was 20. Something was revealed to me from a family member that really knocked the wind out of my sails. It literally was heart-breaking and soul-destroying all at once. Combine that with the white-hot murderous rage that immediately followed and I made a decision right then and there that I was done.

I was done with this person. I wanted nothing to do with them ever again. As far as I was concerned, they were now dead to me. 

A week or so later, I went off to the office of Births, Deaths & Marriages and changed my name. I changed my surname and removed my middle name, and then as I walked out of there with my Change of Name Certificate, I remember feeling this weight being lifted off my shoulders (off my soul!), and could sense that this may have been, single-handedly, one of the best things I’ve ever done. I remember sitting on the tram on the way home. It was a beautiful day and the sun was beaming in through the window. It was so warm on my face.

I walked home and sat on my bed just staring at these documents almost with a sense of disbelief over what I’d just done.

There was no going back from this. No changing my mind. I’m a new person now, and I was going to make sure that I enjoyed this new version of me.

10 years later, and I’ve never looked back. I’ve never once felt any regret over my decision. I closed a chapter of my life and cut out a chunk of people from my life, and as harsh or as blunt as that may sound, I’d do it again if given the choice.