The Oasis - Ch 4

The day of her big escape arrived. Rachel had to try hard to seem unconcerned and not too happy. She tried to act as if she was simply going back to the farm even if she didn’t want to. What she was really feeling was a weird mix of excitement and nerves. She was about to make the biggest move of her life. The single biggest independent decision she had ever made. Not to mention the riskiest. Though when she thought about it Rachel decided going back to the farm was probably riskier, she had no idea what surprises Trevor had planned for her this year or what she might do to him if he tried and he was by himself.
She had had enough. There was no way she would continue to allow herself to be treated that way and now she was old enough to be able to do something about it. There had even been the odd occasion when Rachel had thought about what she might like to do to Trevor if he tried again. She been taking self-defence classes, and learning things from those who knew how to handle themselves.
Her parents had been surprised when she had asked for a gym membership, they had compromised by getting her a trial three month membership, which they later extended when it became clear to them that Rachel was serious about using it. Rachel had become driven. She had decided it was her body and no-one was going to do anything to it she didn’t want them to. She wanted to choose who she let touch her. She was a physical person and she realised the better her body looked the more likely it was she would get the kind of attention she craved.
Rachel got on the bus refusing to wave to her parents or even acknowledge they were there. She was being dumped at the bus station as her parents were on the way to the airport. They were heading to Bali, she’d found the plane tickets in her Dad’s study one night when she was looking for spare cash.
Part of her thought her parents would figure out her plan before the bus pulled away from the station so she refused to allow herself to relax until the bus was driving along the open road. Rachel couldn’t believe she was really doing it. The thing she had spent the better part of twelve months planning. She wanted to get up and move around, she was feeling excited and a bit scared all at once.
She made herself stay seated, something could still go wrong. Her aunt and uncle might actually be on time and waiting for the bus. It hadn’t happened in four years but it was one of those things she couldn’t control. If they were there, there was the chance they may try and flag the bus down and if that happened she was stuffed. They may even call the police who might then be waiting for her at the bus terminal in Perth. She wouldn’t know she was clear until she was checked into a backpackers.
Rachel looked at her watch, her parents could know something was up in as little as eight hours. That was providing someone could contact them in Bali, which was by no means a certainty they weren’t particular about checking their messages when they were on holiday. As for their mobile phones, well if they had them on technically they could be reached, if they were staying somewhere there was signal, but they usually had them off.
Rachel knew all this because there’d been a few times over the last six years she had tried calling them to tell them what Trevor was doing to her. She had even asked her parents about their contact-ability a couple of years back only to be told “When we go on holidays we like to be as un-contactable as possible.”
“But what if I really need to talk or something happens to me?” she had pushed.
“Your aunt will know how to contact us.” Her mother made it sound as if that was the end of the conversation.
Rachel, unwilling to give in so easily, tried a different approach. “What if something happens to her?”
The response was a very unsatisfying, “Don’t be silly nothing is going to happen to Lena.”
Rachel pretty much gave up on her parents after that. She just didn’t understand them. Even though she’d been annoyed, angry and hurting, there was still apart of her that wanted to believe her parents really did care about her. They were supposed to love her, they said they loved her, but they never actually did anything that showed her they loved her. In fact if their actions were anything to go by she seemed to rate low in their priorities.
Rachel stared out the window not really paying attention to the scenery racing by. She was thinking about her new life and wondering if her parents would even miss her.
“From now on,” she whispered as the bus drove through the town she was supposed to be getting off in, “I’m going to live my life, my way and no-one is going to tell me different.”
She breathed a sigh of relief as they drove right past the service station that served as the town’s bus stop. It looked as though whoever was supposed to be picking her up was running late. She now had a little extra breathing room and with a bit of luck their first thought would be they must have gotten the dates mixed up.
There was no-one waiting when Rachel’s bus arrived at the East Perth Terminal. She waited impatiently for her bags to be off loaded, as soon as they were she quickly made her way to the train platform so she could get into the city proper. She wanted to get out of the terminal as soon as possible, the quicker she got into the city the quicker she would be able to get lost.

Journey Home - Entry 2

It’s funny looking back on your life. Viewing the events that shaped you, made you the person you are today, through the perspective of time. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, I’ve got plenty of time for it. Apart from a couple of things my life has been pretty normal. It was those two events that dramatically altered the course I thought my life was going to take.
I wonder if life ever takes the path we plan for ourselves? If the person you want to be as a kid, or even as a teenager, is ever the person you end up being? Perhaps that would be expecting too much. A life without hiccoughs, what a concept. Then again the person you think you’re going to be is pretty two dimensional I suppose.
They say (well that is to say I’ve heard it said somewhere) surviving difficult situations is something that makes you stronger. It supposedly develops your character.
They, whoever ‘they’ are, make it sound like it’s something that’s good for you. Well let me say I’m not sure I want to have my character developed any more. I have had enough of growing, maturing and adjusting to the results of other people’s problems.
I just want my life and my daughter back.

Fear

Fear is a funny thing. I made the choice to look up a couple of people from my school days the other day. It’s one of those things people do on facebook. It was interesting seeing what they look like and are into now but I wasn’t prepared for all the stuff it unearthed.
High school wasn’t a great time for me. The first two years I was the brain or the teachers pet. Year ten was an anomaly because I knew some of the popular kids before I moved to town, but then it was a small town only ten kids in the graduating class. Then six months at one Senior High School and eighteen months at another. Through most of it I never really felt I fit and looking those people up brought back all the fears and insecurities I’d known. What if they don’t remember me? What if they don’t want to reconnect? What if they think I’m a failure? Of course discovering there are very early stages of a twenty year reunion being planned only made the anxiety worse. It didn’t matter how much I mentally slapped myself across the face I couldn’t get past those feelings of rejection from high school.
Then in the car I heard a song that reminded me of my time in England and I realized that high school just wasn’t that important, it wasn’t worth the energy the fear was wasting. Those people who don’t remember me (and there were loads I didn’t remember either) well so what, why should they? I didn’t circulate with them, I wasn’t particularly active in school things and truthfully I didn’t even know who I was back then. It wasn’t until uni and more significantly the almost two years I spent based in the UK, that I was able to define myself. I met people who got me, who shared my interests and accepted me. At the end of high school some people were really sad, they viewed it as the end of something. Me I saw it as a beginning, high school was simply something I had to do to get myself out into the world.
So my conclusion was it ultimately doesn’t matter if those people remember me or not, or if they think I’m a success or not because I like who I am (though I am still working on losing the last of my baby kilos that won’t seem to budge).
Here’s me. I have a wonderful husband of more than ten years and two beautiful little girls, a degree and an associate diploma. I spent nearly two years overseas; Christmas’ in Holland and Ireland, New Years in Edinburgh and Dublin, summers in Greece and Spain, a weekend in France. I have performed on stage in Australia and the UK; done intense dramas, comedies, pantos and Shakespeare, been naked on stage on an extremely cold opening night, even written, produced and acted in my own play. I’ve also done some short films. I’ve written; two novels (as yet unpublished), two full length plays (working on my third), and a bunch of one-acts.
I am scared of stuffing up my lines, especially the first one and yet there is no greater high for me than stepping out under the stage lights. I often think I’ll suck at things but I’ve tried them and I conquer, not because I’m not scared but because I try and I persevere. I’ve been hurt plenty but I still try to make friends and if I didn’t I’d have missed out on having some wonderful people in my life. I’ve been brokenhearted because I thought I was in love, yet that didn’t stop me and now I really know love. I worried about what people might think of me until I realized they didn’t know me so why should I care. Why should I let what someone else may or may not think dictate my self worth and actions. And really am I that arrogant that I think I really matter to all those people?
Fear can hold us back or drive us forward. It can paralyze or motivate. The thing is though I think most of the time fight or flight is our choice. Fear is something to be overcome. Yes it can be a warning and we need to take those times seriously but a lot of our fear is irrational. There are times we need to fear not. Dare to love yourself, the skin you are in, the person you are and be true to you.

Art?

Sometimes there are things that really blow my mind and right now it’s this Bill Henson thing. For those of you who don’t know Bill Henson is a photographer and there is an exhibition of his work going, well it was closed down for a few days because it was raided and certain works confiscated. The controversy is this – in the exhibition were some nude pictures of an (allegedly) 12 year old boy and 13 year old girl.
In my opinion it’s completely fair that these pictures have been removed. If this was some guy showing pictures of naked kids on the street corner, or with a stash of pics on his computer or in a shoebox in his cellar, we’d be yelling for him to be sent to prison. This guy happens to be an artist so people are now saying we can’t complain or shut it down because that would be censorship of art.
Bollocks to that. Just because the photos are artistic – read black and white and well lit – doesn’t mean it is acceptable to have them shown in public. Bay all you want about ‘who the hell do I think I am – the morality police’, and what right do I have to tell you what is or isn’t morally acceptable. Bottom line is these are kids. We should be protecting them, not exploiting them. We should be looking out for them not taking a position that says ‘well as long as it’s artistic then it’s alright’. That attitude opens a floodgate I don’t want open, even though in some cases it’s obviously already been opened. If we don’t say something now people are going to realize they can do just about anything and get away with it as long as they say it’s art, and lets face it some people do already.
One line of comment is that Henson is a renowned artist (a point I won’t argue – I’ve seen some of his work). Well so what, it’s not hard to have your models keep their clothes on. His work with clothed models is intriguing. And yes the argument would be different if the models were older, once people hit a certain age they have the right and hopefully knowledge to make their own choices.
The other thing supporters are saying is that the images aren’t sexualized. Here’s where I think it’s not so simple. We live in a highly sexualized society, so many images thrust at us are sexual in one way or another. Movies and tv used to imply/suggest sex, now they just show it. Advertising shoves it down our throats. When we sexualize so much how is that we are surprised when something whose subject is obviously indicative of sexuality (nudity) is condemned for being sexual.
We want to have it both ways. We want to say images of naked kids are pornographic and we shouldn’t sexualize children but this is okay because it is art. Well I don’t think that’s good enough. I think it’s terrifying in a way but mostly incredibly sad that we find ourselves here.
There are many comments about the photographer but what about the parent/s of the models? No-one should be able to make that kind of decision for someone else – not even a parent (there is simply no way I would let my children do it). How do you even contemplate it for your children? And these children – for that is what they are – don’t have enough knowledge or life experience to make an informed decision about doing something like this. What happens when they are older? What if they regret it? It’s not something they can take back. My thoughts turn to so many negative possibilities. “I’ve already seen you naked so we may as well…” You know what I mean. Perhaps I’m being overly negative but surely it’s got to be a consideration.
We need to realize that images like this are put into the public domain and no matter what our intentions may have been when we produced them, we can’t control what the public think or their interpretations. And truthfully to me displaying pics like that does convey a definite tone of – it’s alright to look at naked children. From there how many steps is it to more explicit pictures, more than looking, and so on? Sure many people wouldn’t think that but what about those that do? And the lives they end up effecting. Then again maybe I only think that because my life has intersected with people from those places we wish didn’t exist. Take picture by all means. Be artistic. But please take the time to realize some boundaries simply don’t need to be pushed. I know we can’t be responsible for someone else’s actions but we can sometimes limit the repercussions our actions produce.

Journey Home - Entry 1

Where do I start? I’m not even sure why I’ve decided to put pen to paper. I haven’t kept a diary since I was a kid. Well I was actually sixteen and if anyone had have called me a kid I’d have thrown a fit. But I was. At least I’m honest enough to say that now. When you’re that age you think you know so much, maybe not everything but enough to know your parents can’t say anything you need to hear. Back then things were less complicated. Okay so they didn’t seem that way at the time, but from where I’m standing now…
Anyway back to this diary thing. I suppose the main reason I haven’t kept a diary all these years is that I haven’t really had the time. Life has been too full, too busy for me to spend my free time, on the rare occasions I had any, sitting on my butt rehashing the events of my day. I also haven’t had cause to keep one, even once they became the in thing to do. Now my situation is certainly different, I have both time and reason. Besides it sure beats talking to the wall.
Now where to start? I’m twenty seven, five feet and seven inches. I have longish dark brown hair and dark eyes. My hobbies include hiking, - wow this stuff isn’t necessary it sounds like I’m writing an ad for the personals. Something else I’ve never done by the way. Like keeping a diary it simply held no interest for me.
I told you I hadn’t done this in a while. I don’t even know why I’m writing it this way, like I’m talking to someone, it’s not like I’m hoping anyone will read it. I just need a way to get my feelings out, sort through the mess of emotions flying around in my head.
I’m looking for a way to fill in time. Time I used to spend being with my little girl and teaching. Not anymore though, work has given me as much time off as I need.
What is that anyway? ‘Take as much time as you need’. I know they’re trying to be understanding or sympathetic or something but please, as if I really need more empty time. I guess they figure that being around other people’s kids would just be too much for me. In actual fact I wish I was at work, at least then I would have something else to think about, to focus on.
I suppose put that way it sounds kind of cruel or cold but the truth is I’m at a loose end. I really don’t know what to say or do about it, about everything that’s happened in recent weeks. After all how to deal with a situation like this is not something you ever get taught.
So where does this all leave me? My daughter, my little girl, has been taken from me, violently and unexpectedly, and sometimes I even have trouble accepting that as my new reality.
Instead I try to focus on something else. Anything else really. I just try to forget. I know that isn’t really possible, nor is it practical, deep down I don’t want to forget her. I love her and I miss her. But what else can I do? I don’t know how to cope.
I’ve had enough for today.

Journey Home - Prologue

“Mummy, do monsters really exist?”
Those few words haunt my memory even now, months later. Though I no longer remember what my answer was that day, I know it should have been yes. I know that isn’t a very reassuring answer but it’s the truth. Maybe not the big, ugly, scary ones from under the bed or in the closet, but just the same I know without question real monsters do exist. And they look just as human as the next person.
Twice now they’ve changed my life forever. Once should have been enough. More than enough. Or at least that is what you would think.
The image of a child’s innocent and trusting eyes fills me with so much pain. She was only a little girl. A sweet, precious, little girl. So young. So innocent. So full of potential. And now…now it has all gone. Wiped out in a matter of moments. Never given the opportunity to even really live.
It just doesn’t seem right that it turned out this way. It doesn’t seem fair. It doesn’t seem possible. But I know it is. It has to be because I feel so empty. As though there is nothing good left inside anymore.
She was my reason for getting up every day. The reason I kept pushing on. Now what? How can I keep going when there is no real reason to? More to the point, why should I?
The eyes that stare back at me from the mirror seem lifeless. Unfocussed, as if unseeing. I shut them in an effort to forget. But now, instead of my own reflection, I see her. The way she looked that morning. That cheeky smile, the way it used to light up her whole face. A dimple denting her right cheek. Her eyes sparkling. It seems clichéd but that is what I see.
My mind screams, partly in denial and partly in anguish, as it replays the events of that afternoon.
I struggle to regain control of my emotions. I try to focus on the brush in my hand, but that image gets lost among others as memories of my daughter come flooding back.

The Oasis - ch 3

The year that followed was a rough one for Rachel. She didn’t care about anything much, especially school work, and her parents chose this year to try to get her to apply herself, little realising it was way too late for that. The years of abuse and neglect had done their job, as far as Rachel was concerned her parents were parents in name only.
She had been sneaking out since she was twelve and they had never stopped her, in fact they had never even noticed as far as she could tell. Her parents had never given her a curfew. They’d tried grounding her a couple of times but being as they were seldom home she’d just walk out the front door making sure she was back before they were. Her dad had tried to discipline her once by taking her stereo but that made no difference because she just listened instead to music on her computer.
Rachel was convinced her parents had no idea about what was going on in her life. Not that it mattered because to her mind they had given up the right to know years earlier. She didn’t respect them and she felt no obligation to. She also knew they wouldn’t kick her out because it wouldn’t look good and appearances were everything.
There were many arguments that year. Rachel didn’t appreciate her parents trying to force their way back into her life after so many years of neglect. There was a particularly nasty one where her mother had been getting on her case about homework again, and somehow it led to the truth finally surfacing.
“You need to apply yourself young lady or you will find yourself in some dead-end job, that is if anyone will employ you, your attitude is terrible.”
“Says who?” asked Rachel.
“Says I,” retorted her mother. “I don’t know what has happened to you but I know you are smarter than this.” She sat down on Rachel’s bed.
“How would you know?”
“I know what your report cards are saying.”
“So? Since when did you care?”
“We wouldn’t be having this argument if I didn’t care.”
“Fine let’s stop talking then.” Rachel got up to leave.
“Don’t you walk away from me.” She stood and went to grab Rachel’s arm.
Rachel spun to face her. “You know mum, you have never cared about anything that wasn’t image or work related.”
“That is not true.”
“Really? Well you would think if you cared about me even a little bit you would know I’d been raped,” Rachel practically spat at her mother.
Rachel’s mum’s mouth opened but nothing came out. Rachel stared at her for a few moments. When it became obvious her mother wasn’t going to say anything else Rachel picked up her jacket and left. Her mother was waiting for her when she got home the following morning. Sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the door, holding an almost empty coffee cup.
“I think we need to talk about what was said last night.”
“Well I don’t want to talk about it.”
“But honey something this…” the words tailed off. Her mum paused, took a big breath and tried again. “You should have told me.”
Rachel couldn’t believe it. “I tried mother. The day after it happened the first time in fact but you didn’t have time for me. If I remember correctly you told me to try and ignore it, because after all boys will be boys.”
“I would never have said that.”
“But you did.”
“Just a minute,” Rachel’s mum interrupted. “The first time?”
Rachel ignored her and continued. “I so desperately wanted you to come,” it all came spewing out in a torrent of words, “and take me away from Aunty Lena and Uncle Jim’s but you had more important things to do than listen to your ten year old daughter’s problems. You had a taxi to catch. I knew from that moment on that I wasn’t important to you. You never asked me about that holiday, about what was bothering me, and you kept sending me back. Every year I protested and every year it was the same thing, ‘spending some time on the farm will be good for you’. Well it wasn’t.”
“Honey I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
“Can’t you figure it out? It’s not really all that hard.”
“Rachel what are you talking about? One minute we were discussing…well you know.”
“Say it mother, rape.” Rachel’s frustration was getting the better of her.
“Yes that, and the next you’re talking about Lena, Jim and the farm. I don’t understand.”
“Fine if you are going to be so stupid about it then let me spell it out for you. T R E V O R.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t possibly mean what you just said.”
“Why not?” Rachel was almost shouting at her mother.
“Well he’s your cousin.”
“So what?”
“You must be confused, that’s all, calm down and we’ll sort this out.”
“There is nothing to sort out.”
“Trevor is such a level headed guy.”
“Are you saying it never happened, that I made it all up just for fun?”
“No. No of course not, I just think that maybe you’ve gotten your cousin confused with whomever it was that did this to you.”
Rachel stood up. She was tired and angry with her mother for bringing all this up. And the raw emotion combined with her mother’s disbelief was beginning to take its toll. “Sure mum. That is exactly what happened. Like I can’t possibly remember who it was who did this to me, repeatedly.” Rachel turned around and left the house, she couldn’t handle being there and being treated like that.
Rachel stayed away for two days after that fight. Her mother only tried opening the subject up with her once more. Rachel just walked away. She figured if her mother really wanted to know the truth or better yet, actually believed her, then she would’ve been more insistent. Her mother’s stubborn refusal to take Rachel at her word only reinforced the belief that her parents really didn’t place much priority on her needs or problems.
When her mother told her of the date she needed to book the bus ticket to the farm, Rachel thought it was a nasty joke. There was no way her mother could’ve completely erased that big fight from her mind. Rachel knew her mother wouldn’t admit to believing her but she’d been sure some part of her must have been willing to contemplate the possibility. Obviously she’d been wrong. There was no way she was going back there, even if her mother was living in denial, no matter what her parents wanted.
She had finally gotten the chance to tell her mum the truth and it had been completely ignored. Even though she would’ve said her mother’s response didn’t surprise her, the truth was it still hurt deeply. With everything her parents had done part of her still wanted their love and their support.
Rachel tried convincing her parents she was old enough to stay by herself. They didn’t agree. Then she said she would make plans to stay with a friend. Her parents again said no, adding that they didn’t trust her, and her attitude over the course of the last few months hadn’t given them any reason to do so. She tried everything she could think of to get out of going to the farm but her parents still insisted.
So Rachel decided to leave home. Instead of getting a bus ticket to the town nearest to the farm, Rachel booked one to the city. She’d been thinking of leaving anyway, and figured her parents probably wouldn’t notice. She hadn’t thought they would send her to the farm this year, even without having told her mum about Trevor. She really thought they would agree to let her stay home by herself. It would’ve meant she’d have had two weeks head start while her parents were on holiday. When it became obvious that that wasn’t going to happen, Rachel adapted her plan, she didn’t drop the idea completely because the way she figured it the holidays were still her best chance of getting away unnoticed.
She had been saving all year, ever since she’d got back from the farm the last time. She’d also managed to supplement her work savings by stealing from her parents. Sometimes she asked them outright for cash and sometimes she just took it. She had put aside quite a lot of money, her bank account read a healthy $3792.84 and she had an extra $1950 in cash hidden in a couple of pair of socks she didn’t wear.
While the other kids at school were planning their summer holidays Rachel was planning her big escape. She didn’t see it so much as running away from home as leaving a harmful environment. Her life had become a game of survival of the fittest and she was determined to survive.
She had her deadline, the date set by her parents, and she had her finances sorted out. By using the internet so thoughtfully provided by her parents as a study aid Rachel made up a list of the cheapest half a dozen backpackers she could find. She prepared as much as she could, determined not to be tripped up by silly little mistakes.
When it came time to pack she had to do so very carefully. She couldn’t take too much or it would make her parents suspicious, after all she was only supposed to be going away for two weeks. Knowing she had quite a bit of money made things a little easier because she knew she would be able to buy the things she needed but couldn’t fit in. She didn’t want to rely on that though because she had no idea how long she would need to survive on money she had.

Brief Moments

Stop And Take A Moment

Stop and take a moment
To smell the flowers scent
To feel the warming touch
Of the sun upon your skin
The sweet caressing gentle breeze
That whispers past your face
Stop and take a moment
Away from life’s rat race

Stop and take a moment
To smile at someone new
Take that outstretched hand
Hold the door for one or two
Don’t fall into the trap
That things you have make up your wealth
Stop and take a moment
Away from thoughts of self

Stop and take a moment
To listen to a child
Or take them to a park
And play with them a while
When you see someone who’s struggling
Don’t turn and run away
Stop and take a moment
To help someone today

Stop and take a moment
To think a few things through
Are you living how you’d hoped to be
Or is life just a list of stuff to do?
Are your priorities sorted out?
Or do they really stink.
Stop and take a moment
I mean really stop and think

A Reflection Of You

You speak to me in sunrise
and in the sunset too
And in the cold, brisk morning
When the grass is wet with dew

I feel your gentle touch
in the breeze upon my face
And in the friendly warmth
Of the sun’s spring embrace

You whisper in the lapping
of the river on the bank
And echo in a child’s laugh
In summer at the lake

As I look around me
I see the touch of you
Help my life be in someway
A reflection of you

True Value

It’s easy to get caught up
In materialistic life
It’s only when we do not have
We think we are in strife
The saddest thing to contemplate
Is how true we think that is
If we only took the time to see
Where our treasure truly is

We no longer seem to value
Things like friends and family
The cynic in me wonders
If that’s because they’re free
They don’t come attached to price tags
Or with instruction books
And we think that we can ditch them
When they no longer match our look

We discard as now outdated
Contentment, joy and peace
And think we only can be happy
When our lives contain some stress
So we go to work, to work
And because we’ve bills to pay
Forgetting how to enjoy life
As we live it day to day

So maybe it is time
To re-evaluate our lives
To look below the surface
Past the multitude of lies
Find out what makes us happy
What matters to us most
Then pursue those things with passion
And find our lost hope

Pain

I have scars. They are faint and unless you were looking you wouldn’t know they were there. These scars I’m talking about were self inflicted. Self harm has almost become a trendy topic, in some circles to the point were it’s talked about and played with as something to do. The truth is the reasons behind it can be much darker and deeper. Self harm isn’t something you should do to fit in and a lot of people that do it don’t talk about it. If you ever see their cuts or scars they may dismiss them, make light of them. But with or without the bravado it’s a cry for help.

For me it wasn’t something I was proud of or something I wanted others to know. My one friend who saw the cuts did so because I rolled up my sleeves one day without thinking. Was she nice and sensitive about it? Hell no. She ripped into me demanding answers and when I wouldn’t give them to her she kept pushing. She then insisted if I ever felt like doing that again I had to call her. I don’t think I ever cut myself again.

I’ve known girls who self harm to shrug it off, saying it’s unimportant. They display all this bravado but honestly if there wasn’t something wrong they wouldn’t be doing it.

As far as this topic goes, for me a blade wasn’t my big thing. If you’d asked I would have said I did it because I was curious but let’s face it what normal kind of person is curious about being cut by a knife. They just aren’t. My more common method of self harm was my hands, to be precise I use to hit things, big solid surfaces. It didn’t tend to leave obvious marks, sometimes grazes and bruises but nothing as noticeable as scabbed up cuts.

It’s important to note that self harm isn’t always about cutting yourself nor is it always connected to attempted suicide. I never thought about ending my life. Which then leads to the obvious question – what was it about then? The one word answer is pain. That probably doesn’t tell you much though. A better way of putting it is pain management. I had a lot of baggage, a lot of stuff I didn’t know how to deal with properly, years of insecurities that culminated for me in my twenties. I was never popular, I was teased a lot and had self image problems, all hidden behind walls I’d built around my emotions. In early high school guys weren’t particularly mean, they just ignored me for the most part but the girls were really nasty. Later on though there were a few guys who seemed to like nothing better than attacking me verbally in any way they thought was funny. I always had things to say back to them and never let them see the damage they caused, but just because they didn’t see the pain didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

Later on I used my physical assets to get attention, but attention and good healthy relationships are two vastly different things. The attention made me feel better momentarily but didn’t do anything for me deep down. Deep inside I felt alone, as though no-one cared to know the real me. That’s the danger when you live to get approval from people in general. When your happiness is reliant on the external and you live to get surface gratification, you find it only lasts for a brief moment. We all really want someone to care for us deep down, not just like us for our breasts or because we will put out.

I had plenty of people hitting on me but that didn’t stop me feeling depressed and alone. I’d walk home after a night out with my girlfriends and I’d punch the rough rock walls because I felt so miserable on the inside and for a brief while, the pain caused by the rocks overshadowed the pain I felt on the inside. I think this is at the heart of self harm. It is a way to cover up inner pain. If we are going to deal with something like this we have to learn to deal with the underlying problems. We need to look at what is causing the pain and how each person deals with it.

There are healthy ways to deal with the pain life throws at us. Of course not all of us have parents or friends we can go to or even someone we feel we can trust with out innermost, dirtiest, scariest secrets. So instead we build internal walls and hide our emotions away. We don’t deal with our problems in an effective way and as a result at the very least cause ourselves no small amount of hurt. Sure you could say we don’t do it to ourselves it’s others that have done it to us but the truth is the only one who can decide how to play the hand we’ve been dealt is ourselves.

I suppose the next thing you might be curious about is how I overcame it. Well my friend was a good start. Like I said I don’t think I cut myself again but it’s worth considering that cutting was something I’d escalated up to so it’s possible that if my friend hadn’t stepped in when and how she did I could have kept going. That one conversation with her didn’t stop all my self harm and it didn’t stop the depression and loneliness but it was a step in the right direction.

The depression and loneliness followed me back to Australia (I spent a couple of years in my early twenties in the UK) and I kept living a lifestyle that sought approval and gratification from the people around me. I still lived a very superficial life. I wasn’t happy and I knew it. One day I accepted this and decided I was the only one who could change it. I didn’t do it alone but I needed to make the decision and I needed to take responsibility.

For me faith in God was something I grew up with so when I decided to sort out my life I knew it was my spiritual life I needed to deal with first. I went to a camp and used the time and environment (away from the city, work and all the influences that cluttered my days, drawing me into a superficial life) to deal with my issues. How did I do that? I cried out to God. I swore off men and took my loneliness, hurts and frustrations to the cross. This was a turning point in my life. Many things changed that weekend, not least of which being that I met the man I would be engaged to six weeks later. But that’s another story for another time.

All this was ten years ago and just so you know not all my problems vanished in an instant. I made the decision to change and took steps to do so. I also realised I needed a better way of dealing with things. It took time but I found my better way through faith and doing the things I love – for me performing is a great way to get rid of built up stress. Of course meeting my future husband meant the man thing wasn’t much of an issue anymore. The depression became much less of a thing as well. I still suffer bouts of it but it no longer drags me down for days on end and causes me to stop functioning effectively. Now I know there is a way out. I still feel lonely sometimes but now I know not all of us can surround ourselves with friends and be happy all the time. And of course my life still has many frustrations but they help me move forward, even if I do occasionally feel like punching a wall when I am at my most frustrated.

Bottom line is even though things don’t always go my way, or the way I think they should, I know now how to deal with my problems better and if I feel unattractive, useless or hurt I have someone I can pour my emotions out on. Even if my husband doesn’t understand or know what to say, God does. He knows the intimate parts of me including the darkest parts of my heart and he loves me still.

Not everyone’s path is the same but none of us need to deal with things alone. There is light at the end of the tunnel but we have to choose to walk to it and continue in it.

The Oasis - ch 2

Rachel never said a word to her parents about that holiday or the consecutive ones.
When her parents insisted she go back to the farm after that nightmare year Rachel hoped Trevor would have forgotten all about it, and moved on to something else. She was wrong. The second night she was there he came into her room. He told her he had been waiting all year for her visit. Rachel tried fighting back once but Trevor hit her and made it hurt more so she didn’t fight back again. She just lay there until he was gone and tried to think about being somewhere else.
It became more obvious to her as time went on that Trevor’s parting words from that first nightmare year were right. Her parents were much more interested in their own lives than in hers. Even when they asked how she was or what she’d been doing it seemed more for form than any real interest. They always seemed distracted, like they were never really listening. Rachel never felt as if she had their undivided attention.
Parents were supposed to genuinely care about their children yet hers always had something else they had to focus on. When they were talking to her their thoughts seemed to be somewhere else. When they weren’t working they had functions or dinner parties to attend or occasionally throw. When she wanted to spend time with them they had something else to do or somewhere else to be. There was always something that seemed far more important than their own daughter.
Of course the payoff was that Rachel had just about anything a young girl could ask for. Though if her parents had actually bothered asking her what she wanted she would have told them she’d trade it all for parents who loved her and cared enough to listen and spend time with her. Not that they ever asked.
By the time she was twelve her parents decided she was old enough to not need a babysitter whenever they went out. It probably would have seemed great if it had have been only once a week but it wasn’t. Her parents went out most nights. And all Rachel got out of that freedom was that she wasn’t even valuable enough for her parents to pay someone to make sure she was alright. Even when they were home she was still left to her own devices.
Once when she got caught smoking at school all her mother said was, “That’s pretty self-destructive behaviour for someone so young. Don’t you think you should find something more constructive to do with your hands?”
Despite there being no need for a babysitter her parents wouldn’t let her stay home alone during their two week vacation. The regular two weeks on the farm continued until Rachel was fifteen.
The year she turned fourteen was the year Rachel started getting her period. It was also the year she started taking birth control pills. Her mother found them one day and confronted her, stupidly demanding to know why she was taking them.
“Since when did you care?” was Rachel’s response.
“I am still your Mother, even though you refuse to talk to me about anything.”
“That’s great coming from you. Every time I try to talk to you you’ve something better to do, or somewhere else to be.” Rachel spoke almost expressionlessly.
“How can you say something like that to me, I’m your mother.”
“Well why haven’t you acted like one?” It wasn’t so much a question as an accusatory statement.
“Don’t you dare speak to me like that young lady.”
“Fine, whatever. Look you can think whatever you want. Either I am taking them to relieve period pain and regulate my cycle or I’m taking them so I can sleep with as many guys as I want without getting pregnant.”
That was the last time they spoke about it. Rachel didn’t know whether her mother was in denial about sex or just trying to ignore it, by now she wasn’t sure it really mattered. Sex was part of her life but certainly not a part she was going to discuss with her mother. She had convinced herself that when she chose to have sex with a guy she felt cared for and loved. Even if it was only for a little while. It wasn’t the sex she liked, it was the being held by someone, feeling close to someone, but by fourteen she figured that the pay off for that was sex.
The wall around her emotions was getting bigger and stronger all the time. She did what she thought she had to do in order to feel what she thought she wanted to feel. But as always the result was only temporary.
Apart from the year Trevor started it all, her final year at the farm was the worst. That was the year she was fifteen and took to sneaking out the window. Trevor told his parents who began looking in on her when they were home and made Trevor promise to look in on her when they were out. They informed Rachel they were not going to tolerate rebellious behaviour in anyone who lived under their roof even if it was only for a couple of weeks a year. The threat to phone her parents didn’t even merit acknowledging.
There may have been no need to sneak out when her aunt and uncle were in the house but she wasn’t stupid enough to stay when they went out. As soon as their car was down the driveway Rachel was gone but Trevor was ready for her. To make matters worse he brought a friend along. After that night Rachel didn’t think things could get any worse.
She was wrong.
The day before she was due to catch the bus home Rachel had gone for a walk. Although Trevor had long since stopped hassling her when his parents were home she still preferred to be as far away from the house and the thoughts it provoked as she could be. There were one or two places on the farm that offered her moments of something resembling peace. This day isolating herself proved to be a bad decision.
This day Trevor had a nasty surprise. He and three of his mates found her in the wooded paddock by the stream reading. One of the other guys she already knew, the other two she didn’t. Rachel decided then and there that this would be the last time she would ever set foot on her aunt and uncle’s farm.

Beauty

Who decides what beauty is? Before you laugh consider the question, it is a valid one. It is also one we should probably ask.
Over the years different things have been considered attractive. So what has bought us to the point of the ‘no figure’ obsession we find ourselves in now? We have all been blessed with different body types, we can’t all be Hollywood skinny and honestly why should we want to be? Even if you don’t consider the health risks.
Now I’ve got to admit here that I don’t want to be fat, and yes that is an image thing as well as a health thing. I’m no more immune to the beauty images pumped before me than others. I also believe we are in a health crisis as far as weight issues go. However I don’t think we all need to be whipcord skinny with Nic’s nose, Ange’s lips and whoever’s enhanced boobs. It’s time we really learnt to embrace ourselves as acceptable. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder as the old saying goes, so isn’t it about time we became our own beholders and decided we are beautiful.
Sure we probably all have things we’d like to change about ourselves, I’m sure a lot of celebrities do too, if this wasn’t the case plastic surgeons wouldn’t be so busy or so wealthy. The thing is not all of us can afford to go under the knife and to be honest I don’t see why we should. Once we have health issues under control we should be able to enjoy the shape we are, whatever that shape is. Of course that sounds great in theory but we all know reality is a vastly different thing. It’s different because all of us, or at least most of us seek approval from others. Not even just our friends.
If we are single it’s complicated by the fact we may also be trying to attract Mr Right. It doesn’t matter how many times the experts tell us we shouldn’t look for happiness from others and that we need to find happiness and wholeness in ourselves first, we still seem to desire the external affirmation. I actually agree with the advice, I know a partner doesn’t fix all our problems or hang-ups. It’s just I also know that in me is a desire to be accepted and even attractive to others. It’s sad and even a little depressing to realise I can be so shallow, but that doesn’t make it less true.
As a side issue is it actually shallow to want to look good if it is part of a balanced approach to life? I’d have to say no and yet there have been times when I’ve purposefully not made an effort, validating it by saying people should look beyond appearance. Sadly I have been known to judge on appearance so I guess that makes me a hypocrite. I must add though that looking good and being obsessed with the images of beauty put before us are two different things.
Quite a few years ago now I was managing my husband’s band and I hit a point where I felt like all I was, was one of the guys, Steve’s wife. I didn’t feel like they saw me as a woman at all. Admittedly a fair chunk of that was my responsibility, I’m not really into fashion, make-up and other feminine pursuits, I had in fact worked at being one of the guys. Then I hit the point where I wanted to scream ‘I am a woman you know’. So I went out, cut and coloured my hair and rocked up to their next gig in a beaded top and a long, satin skirt. I looked hot, but boy it got me into trouble. My hubby was told he should control what I wore and that got me really angry. In retrospect it was an inappropriate outfit – the only thing under the top was an embroidered velvet bra, bigger than a bikini top was my argument at the time, - but still they were a Christian band playing in a Christian venue. The point I’m trying to make is we all struggle with image. I wanted to be noticed.
To this end some people try to follow every current trend thus making themselves slaves to the fashion and marketing industries and as a result the media. It might be an idea though to take a look at the faces behind these industries. Do these faces and bodies match up with the products they are selling?
Then of course there are those of us who strive in the opposite direction, saying we don’t care for fashion and stuff, as a result we often suppress or try to ignore one of the things that makes us women. We try to ignore our femininity. We say what sex we are isn’t important, you should accept us because we are capable, smart or any number of other things.
There has to be a balance out there. I haven’t found it yet but I am looking. In the process I discovered the day spa. I’ve wanted to try it for a while but always put it off as not necessary or too expensive. Then my wonderful hubby got me a half day treatment package for Christmas. It was fantastic. I came out feeling incredibly relaxed and de-stressed. I didn’t feel even a little bit guilty that I’d spent four hours being pampered which makes me think there really is something to the idea of making sure you care for yourself. I don’t just mean taking a little time away from the hubby or kids either. I’m pretty sure I was nicer to be around for a while and my hubby could’ve asked me to do just about anything and I would have done it (the next day – I was too relaxed to even cook dinner when I got home).
You may wonder how this ties into where I started. It’s obvious really. Sometimes it does even the most stubborn and ungirly of females good to allow ourselves to take care of our outsides because in doing so we feed our insides. When you are happy with the way you look, when you feel you look good, then you feel good. The problem comes when, in an effort to be liked or accepted, we try to fit into what others expect. Or even when we try to make ourselves outwardly into the images we are told are beautiful. We try to squash the feminine, gentler side of ourselves in order to be accepted in other ways.
We need to remember that real beauty doesn’t come from the make-up brush or at the hands of a cosmetic surgeon. All the money in the world can’t hide a bitter, spiteful or damaged spirit. True beauty is inner beauty, cliché that may be but it is the truth. Not everyone can be a pin-up girl or a beauty queen but every woman has within her the ability to be beautiful, to attract people to her and to be loved.
Take some time for yourself and look into your heart, your spirit, and find what it is that is you. Not what someone else says is you but what God placed in you when you were created. Find your gifts, your passions. Find forgiveness for all those things done to you that you still hold onto. If you don’t let go of those things you will never reach your full potential because there will always be something holding you back and it’s those sort of things that can fester and destroy your spirit, turning your true beauty, ugly.
External beauty can fade and ideals can change (lets hope they do). Finding who you were created to be is a gift from God that lasts forever and the beauty that comes from that will bring far more contentment than that which comes from the mirror. And always remember – a heart felt smile is transforming and good make-up can cover a multitude of beauty problems for those times you want to feel skin deep pretty.

My Gift To You

Locks behind locks
in doors behind doors
Somewhere deep inside
a heart and soul are crying
hidden so no-one can reach them
and no-one can hurt them
If it stays that way
will you ever feel again?
I know trust is a risk
but let me be your strength
just for a while
I’ve arms to hug with
shoulders to cry on
ears to listen
heart and soul for strength and love
Whenever you need it
from now till forever
This is my gift to you

The Oasis - Ch 1

Thirty five degrees at ten o’clock at night, it was too hot. There was no wind, not even a slight breeze to break the oppressive humidity. Ten year old Rachel Andrews would know if there was, she was still awake, too hot and too uncomfortable to sleep. She was standing in front of the open window hoping to catch even the slightest suggestion of moving air.
The moon was full, making it a bright night. Rachel was staring out across the house paddock to the line of trees along the edge of the creek, if it could be called that, there was barely enough water for a trickle. She had been told during winter there was enough water running in the old riverbed that it could still be called a stream. Not that she had ever seen it, she was never at the farm during winter.
For perhaps the fiftieth time in a week she was wondering why her parents insisted on dumping her at her aunt and uncle’s farm for two weeks while they jet-setted. She’d rather be just about anywhere else. The farm was boring. She had no-one to hang with, her cousins didn’t count. There was nothing to do, the boys had computers but even if she was interested in computer games she wouldn’t have been allowed to touch them. There wasn’t even a pool.
Rachel hated the farm. Her aunt and uncle barely seemed to notice she was there. She was fed and told when to go to bed, apart from that she was left to fend for herself. Simply put, two weeks on the farm sucked. She wished her parents had let her stay at her best friends place, at least if she had have been at Grace’s she wouldn’t have been so bored. They never even considered it, dismissing it out of hand as soon as Rachel suggested it.
Rachel heard footsteps coming up the corridor. She jumped back into bed, pulled the sheet over herself and shut her eyes. Maybe if he thought she was asleep, her fourteen year old brat cousin Trevor would leave her alone. So far for the seven days she’d already been at the farm not one had gone by without him teasing or hassling her every time no one else was around. Rachel didn’t bother complaining anymore. She had tried telling her aunt a couple of times only to be told firstly he was just having a little bit of fun, that’s what boys do, and the second time she was told not to tell tales and just to ignore him because he’d eventually get bored and leave her alone.
The door to Rachel’s room opened. She lay as still as she could. He’d never bothered her at night before, but then his parents were usually home. Tonight they had gone out. The door shut. She was just about to open her eyes and throw off the uncomfortable sheet when she heard footsteps inside her room.
“C’mon,” she heard Trevor’s voice. “I know you’re awake, it’s too hot to be asleep.” Rachel didn’t say anything.
“Well if that’s the way you want to be. I have a game for us to play.” Trevor was at the edge of her bed.
Rachel was trying to keep her eyes shut and remember to breathe. Suddenly she felt very scared. She knew something was very wrong. The sheet was thrown to the side. She felt Trevor tug her nightie upwards.
“Don’t bother shouting, Mum and Dad won’t be back for ages and Brett has gone over to his girlfriend’s, he is of the opinion I am old enough to look after you. That and his girlfriend rang saying she wanted some.”
Rachel was beginning to hope this was all a horrible dream. His hand touched her hip. Her breathing quickened.
“See I knew you were awake. Open your eyes.”
She screwed them shut more tightly.
Trevor’s weight moved on the bed as he leant over her and whispered, “It doesn’t matter, I already know what colour they are.”
Rachel could feel his breath on her neck and she bit the inside of her lip so she wouldn’t cry.
Ten minutes later Trevor got up to leave. “By the way,” he hissed, “I wouldn’t bother telling anyone, they aren’t going to believe you. Besides,” he gave a nasty laugh, “this is just what boys do.”
Trevor left.
Rachel lay there on the bed not knowing what to do. She couldn’t seem to get her body or her brain to work. The only thing she knew was that she was still alive. The only thing she could focus on was her breathing. In and out. In and out. She started shaking, rolled over onto her side and pulled the sheet up over herself. It didn’t help. Her legs felt sticky. The bottom sheet felt wet and sticky.
Standing up, Rachel pulled the sheet off the bed, wrapped it around herself, went to the door and listened. When she was certain she couldn’t hear anyone she opened the door. Just a crack at first, she didn’t want to take any chances. Quickly she opened the door, shut it behind herself and raced for the bathroom down the hall.
She didn’t want to turn the light on but knew she had to if she was going to clean everything up. She worked trying not to think about what had just happened. Trying instead to focus only on getting the blood stains out of the sheet. There was also blood on her nightie and her thighs.
Rachel turned the shower on as hot as she could stand it and scrubbed her whole body. By the time she was finished her thighs were almost raw and her skin all over stung. Rachel didn’t care. She just wanted to feel clean. She wanted to wash the horrible memory away with the blood.
She turned the water off and stood there shaking. As she watched the last of the water trickle down the drain Trevor’s words echoed in her head. “They’re not going to believe you,” and “That’s just what boys do,” kept replaying over and over.
Rachel’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car coming up the driveway. She didn’t know who it was but it didn’t matter. She got out of the shower, quickly wrapped her towel around herself not even bothering to dry off first. Grabbing the sheet and nightie she raced back to her room. As quickly and as quietly as she could Rachel remade the bed, with the still wet sheet on the top. Hanging the wet nightie and towel over the back of a chair she put on clean underwear and a second nightie and crawled into bed, pulling the wet top sheet over herself.
Rachel lay there waiting and listening. Two car doors shut. The front door opened and closed. She could hear voices talking but couldn’t make out what was being said. She heard footsteps coming up the hallway and stopping outside her door. Rachel bit her lip to stop herself making any noise. Her bedroom door opened. Rachel curled herself up tighter under the wet sheet, willing herself not to shiver despite the heat. Trevor’s voice almost caused her to jump.
“See I told you everything is fine, the brat is exactly where she is meant to be. You can trust me.”
“Well at least we can trust one of you, what was your brother thinking?”
Rachel’s bedroom door was closed. Rachel hadn’t realised she had been holding her breath until she started gasping for air. Trevor had been right, his parents would never believe her if she told them what he had done. They would say she was just making up another story. Rachel didn’t understand why anyone would think someone would make up a story like that but she knew there was no way they were going to believe her over their own son.
Her parents would believe her though, if only she could talk to them. The only problem was she didn’t know how to contact them, only her aunt had that information, her parents thought she was too young.
‘Maybe if I tell my aunt I’m really missing my parents she’d call them for me,’ she thought, ‘Then I’ll be able to tell them. When I do that they will come and pick me up and take me away from this place.’
Rachel finally drifted off to sleep thinking about her parents driving in to rescue her from the nightmare she found herself trapped in.
The next morning Rachel woke up and for a few seconds everything was normal. Until she stretched and the pain she felt reminded her of what Trevor had done. Tears started forming. Rachel swiped at the tears, she didn’t want to cry. Not here anyway, maybe when she was safely at home. She quickly got dressed thinking about how she was going to convince her aunt that she had to speak to her mum.
In the end it had been easy and before long Rachel was listening to a dial tone waiting for her mother to pick up the phone.
“Hello.”
“Hi Mum,” Rachel started to feel better knowing her mother was right at the other end of the phone line.
“Oh hi sweetie, how are things on the farm? I bet the fresh air is doing you the world of good. Your Dad and I are having a great time too.”
“Uh, Mum, I need to talk to you about something.” It took all Rachel’s courage to interrupt her mother, it was something she had been taught not to do.
“What is it honey?”
“Well,” Rachel realised she wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to say. She took a deep breath. “It’s about Trevor.”
“Oh honey,” she heard her mother sigh. “Lena said you two were having problems, but that’s only natural, what with you being cousins and Trevor being a boy. Boys can be really annoying, especially teenage ones. Don’t worry about it, after all boys will be boys. Just try to ignore him, show him you are better than he his by not stooping to his level. Go somewhere he isn’t, it is a pretty big farm after all.”
“But Mum he…” Rachel didn’t get to finish.
“He what? Look sweetie I don’t have time for this our taxi is due to arrive. You hang in there and try to enjoy the rest of your holiday. I’ve got to go, love you.”
Rachel heard the phone click as her mother hung up on her. Rachel nearly burst into tears. Her dreams for being rescued lay shattered. Rachel didn’t know what she was going to do. In fact the only thing that seemed to register was now she knew for certain her parents didn’t care about what happened to her. She finally had her answer. Obviously that was why they sent her away for two weeks every year.
Devastated Rachel stayed at the farm for the second week. She didn’t have any choice. She tried avoiding Trevor which worked sometimes, while other times he seemed to go out of his way to be where she was.
For a few nights she wedged a chair against the door to stop Trevor coming into her room. Until her aunt found out and took it away saying, ‘It’s for your own good, privacy is not more important than safety, what if something happened and we needed to get to you in a hurry, that chair could be the difference between life and death.’ Rachel wasn’t strong enough to move the dresser she knew that because she tried.
Her parents called once during the second week but again they had to rush somewhere so had no time for anything apart from: hi, see you soon and bye.
Trevor came into her room twice more. The last time, the night before she went home he whispered, “I wouldn’t bother telling your parents, they won’t care, why do you think they leave you here every year? It’s so they can get away from you. Surely you know they have much more fun when you are not around.”
Rachel waited until Trevor had left before she let his words enter her head and the tears fell. There was no doubt in her mind about the truth of what he said. He was just confirming what she already knew from conversations she’d had with her parents. In an effort to muffle her sobs, Rachel buried her head in a pillow. With everything that had happened in the last two weeks she wasn’t under any circumstances going to let him see how much damage he had done. The first brick was placed in what would become the wall around her emotions.

Intro Take 2

Here’s what I know. Life is complicated, it would be great if it weren’t, in some ways, but it is. And I want to welcome you to my part of this complicated web we weave. I have a purpose with this site and that is simply to share with you my journey in trying to untangle the twists and turns I find myself in. I’m pretty certain though that I’m not the only one out there who gets tangled up.

Woman are so important, we are half the population, more or less, and we contribute amazing things and yet we often put ourselves down. Irrespective of whether you are a woman of faith, as I am, there are things we all long for and experiences we all share. Don’t let the mention of faith put you off, I’m not here to be religious, simply share life, maybe even help lighten the load a little if you’ll let me, it’s just that faith is a part of my life, one of it’s defining paradigms.

Please join me as I creatively journey through life, doing some bits well and inevitably some not so well.

31 Woman - Intro

Introduction to follow once I've established that the paper I wrote it on it hasn't been eaten by my one year old.